


There's No Antidote For This Curse

by LiveLaughLoveLarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, One Direction (Band)
Genre: A little, Aftermath of Violence, Animagus, Aurors, Baker Harry, Divination, Doctor Niall, Hufflepuff Harry, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Journalist Louis, Legilimency, Liam sticks his foot in his mouth, M/M, Minor Character Death, Muggle-born Harry, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Obliviation, Police Officer Harry, Police Officer Liam, Slytherin Louis, also because auror Liam isn't available, and a good friend, because auror Harry isn't available, but he's a good egg, but you can't have a murderer without a few murders, no one with a name, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveLaughLoveLarry/pseuds/LiveLaughLoveLarry
Summary: New York City, 1924. Harry Styles is an Auror working for MACUSA. Louis Tomlinson is an investigative reporter for the Daily Prophet in London. They haven't seen each other for years, but when bodies start showing up in Central Park, Louis travels to New York to cover the story. The two work together to uncover the killer, and uncover a few other secrets along the way.~*~*~The snap of a breaking twig made Harry jump, pointing his wand in the direction the noise had come from. “Who’s there?” he called, hoping he sounded more authoritative than afraid. “Come out where I can see you, and keep your hands where I can see them.”“Relax.” The voice was casual, unconcerned. “It’s just me.” More twigs snapped underfoot as a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. “Hullo, Harry.” Louis grinned as he strolled into the beam of Harry’s wand. “So MACUSA decided to show up to work after all.”





	1. All These Empty Faces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curlyfries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlyfries/gifts).



> This story was a surprise from beginning to end. I never quite knew where it was going, or what the characters would do next, and just when I thought things were wrapping up they decided I needed to write another 8k or so! But it was a blast :) Big thanks to curlyfries for the prompts.  
> Any errors are mine. Please pretend that any non-British words are because Harry's been living in New York for three years, rather than because I didn't have time to find a britpick (sorry).  
> Title of the work from Ever Since New York, chapter titles from I Don't Wanna Live Forever.

It was a sound that sent shivers down the spines of everyone who heard it. Hairs stood on end on the backs of people’s necks, cats arched their spines, dogs cowered under tables. The scream echoed through the night air of Central Park with an unnatural resonance.

In his small apartment on the edge of the park, Harry sat straight up in bed, listening as the echoes died away. His breath came fast and his heart pounded as he stood, crossing the short distance to the window. He peered through the dingy glass into the darkness, but could make out nothing.

The police would find nothing; the source of the sound would remain a mystery. The papers the next morning would mention the unearthly cry that had broken through the semisilence of a city that never truly slept. But with no real information to report, it would soon sink through the millions of minds to become nothing but a memory.

~*~

A week later, Harry was getting ready for work when there was a knock on his door.

“Just a minute,” he called, trying to stuff papers into his bag with one hand and cancelling the active spells with the other. The knock came again, and he abandoned the papers in favour of covering the jars of potion ingredients with a quick concealment charm. “Coming!” he yelled as he headed for the door, buttoning up his shirt and trying not to trip over his untied shoelaces.

He pulled open the door and stopped short. The person on the other side of the door was the last person he would have expected. In fact, scratch that – he would have been surprised if it had been President Seraphina Picquery. This wouldn’t have even made the list.

“Hullo,” said the face.

Harry blinked hard, but the sight before him didn’t change. It was still the same familiar figure, looking just like he had the last time Harry had seen him. Years had passed, but he looked as young as ever, a restless energy in his posture and a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Louis?” Harry said at last.

Louis laughed. “In the flesh,” he said. “I was starting to think you didn’t remember me. Hard to imagine.”

“I… no.” Harry was still baffled. “I remember you.” He would always remember him. He suspected everyone who’d ever met Louis would remember him, but he didn’t say that aloud. Silence hung in the air a moment. “What are you doing here?” he asked at last.

Louis’ eyes sparkled with mirth as he feigned a frown. “You don’t sound happy to see me,” he said. “And here I thought you’d be glad to see your old friend.”

“My-” They hadn’t been unfriendly, but Harry had certainly never considered the vibrant older boy, who always got himself into the most absurd predicaments but managed to escape the trouble he _clearly_ deserved with a smile and a witty rejoinder, to be his friend. They spoke occasionally, but usually only when Louis needed help with his classwork. Harry had been perfectly content to watch him from afar. “No, I’m – it’s good to see you.”

Louis shifted the large satchel slung over his shoulder. “I’ll be in town for a bit on a story,” he said. “Thought I’d drop by and say hello. We’ll probably run into each other.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “What story?”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “Oh, MACUSA aren’t investigating yet?” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll scoop you guys.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I’m completely wrong about this one, and there’s no story. We’ll see.” He turned, walking back down the hallway. “I’ll see you around, Harry,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Louis, wait!” Harry called. “What’s the story?”

Louis turned, his grin as wide as ever. “Buy the Prophet and find out,” he teased.

A moment later he was out of sight down the stairs, and Harry was left leaning against the doorframe, feeling like a hurricane had just swept through the apartment. Which it kind of had. Louis had always been exhausting to keep up with. Harry had been more than glad that Louis had left Hogwarts before he’d been made Prefect – that would have been more headache than he knew how to handle. He considered chasing after him now and demanding to know what he was talking about, but the dull throb that was already settling in his temples convinced him otherwise. With a sigh, he turned back into his apartment and set about preparing a pot of willow bark tea.

~*~

Two days later, Harry was awoken in the middle of the night by a tapping at his window. He opened his eyes groggily to see the white moon of a barn owl face outside the pane, and sighed. This was part of the job, and he was glad to do it, but he did sometimes wish it could happen at more convenient times.

He slid open the window, and the owl hopped neatly inside, holding out a small white envelope with his name on it. Harry took it, but didn’t open it immediately, instead setting it on his bed while he walked to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. As he rubbed himself dry with a towel, the owl waddled into the bathroom, once again holding the envelope.

Harry chuckled, gently picking up the bird and setting it on the sink tap. “Determined little thing, aren’t you?” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He slid a finger under the flap and pulled out the note.

_Body reported in Central Park at the northernmost point of The Pond with unusual wounds. Second incident in a week. Police are at the scene. No magical involvement has been confirmed. You are to investigate if the attacks are magical or mundane. Report on preliminary findings in the morning._

It was short and to the point; no pleasantries, just the straight facts. Which was exactly how Harry liked it. He looked at the owl, who was preening her feathers on the tap.

“Well, sugar,” he said, running a finger along her back. “Shall we?”

She looked up at him, then hopped onto his proffered forearm. He carried her back into the bedroom and pulled a scrap of paper from the piles on his desk. _Message received,_ he scrawled as neatly as he could manage given the ungodly hour. _On my way._

He folded the note in half and slipped into the envelope the original missive had come in. He picked up his wand from the nighttable and sealed the envelope with a flick of his wrist. “Return to sender, please?” he said, offering the note back to the owl.

She looked at it, then at him, then took the envelope in her beak. Harry carried her to back to the window and she hopped out onto the ledge. A moment later she was just a faint light spot in the night sky. Harry watched her fade away, then turned back to his room to get dressed.

~*~

Harry winced as he stepped out from behind a tree in Central Park. He still wasn’t used to the unpleasant sensation of Apparation, but he couldn’t deny that it was useful. Technically he’d probably broken MACUSA regulations by Apparating into an unsecured space, but at this time of night the Park was nearly deserted, and dark enough that anyone who did see him would think he had simply been obscured by the blackness.

He’d appeared a few hundred metres away from the Pond, so he began to pick his way through the trees toward the path. After tripping twice, he pulled out a flashlight and made the rest of the way by its light. When he was about fifty feet away, he could see the telltale gleam of police lights. He had already transfigured his robes into an NYPD uniform, and experience had taught him the best way to blend in was to act like he belonged. He took a deep breath to calm his rising nerves, but didn’t alter his pace as he strode into the lights.

Half a dozen officers were milling around a small clearing. A few of them stood by a police car, talking to a pair of joggers, who appeared thoroughly freaked out to have discovered a dead body. Two more officers were huddled around a dark lump a short distance into the trees. That would have to be the body. Harry looked away, and made eye contact with the last cop, who was standing alone by the second car, scribbling something in a notepad.

“What have we got here?” he asked.

The cop looked up, then returned his attention to his writings. “Female, probably early thirties,” he said. “Looks to have been mauled to death, just like the one from a few days ago.”

“Mauled by what?” Harry asked.

The cop shrugged. “Who knows?” he said. “It’s weird, though – some of the marks look like claws, but some of them look like fingernails. There’s even a couple that look like bite marks – human bite marks.”

“Strange,” Harry agreed. “That’s New York for you, I suppose.”

The cop laughed. “You’ve got that right.”

“Are you sure they’re claw marks, and not knife marks?” Harry asked.

Another shrug. “They look like claw marks to me,” he said. “And to Jones over there.” He jerked a thumb at the man who was crouching over where the body must be. “They’re more jagged than you’d expect from a knife.”

“Maybe the knife was dull?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t look convinced. “Why would you use a knife that dull, though? And there’s three or four of them together some places.” He shrugged again. “Could be a knife. Could be some kind of wild animal. Could be a trained animal – I’m not ruling anything out. Like you said, it is New York. But my money says whatever made those marks, it ain’t human.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Harry asked.

The cop chuckled. “Don’t matter to me. Ask Jones – he can get proprietary.”

“Proprietary over corpses?” Harry said, grinning. The cop grinned back.

“New York, remember?” he said. “Nah, he just takes his job serious. Bit too serious for my taste, but he’s good at what he does.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said. “I’ll ask him.”

Jones was indeed reluctant to allow Harry to take a look, but Harry turned up the charm and a minute later Jones was explaining some of the more salient details. The wounds were as the other officer had said, and Harry had no idea what to make of them, but he took detailed notes anyways. He was almost done when he something caught his eye in the grass – what looked like an origami insect, crawling towards him.

He stood, thanking Jones for his time and his expertise (the grumpy man almost cracked a smile at that), and pretended to drop a pen to give himself an excuse to scoop up the little critter. Written on its back in a cramped hand were three words: _Come find me?_

Harry glanced back at the cops, who were paying him no heed now that he wasn’t directly addressing them. He looked back at the paper bug in his hand, then peered out into the darkness of the park. He could see no movement, no sign of anything through the shadowy trees, but somewhere out there, someone was waiting.

Harry shoved the bug into his pocket and wiped his hands on his trousers. With one final look at the cops still milling around the scene, he squared his shoulders, swallowed his apprehension, and stepped into the trees.

It felt like a different world. He could still see the flashlights of the cops through breaks in the trees, could still hear whispers of their low voices, but it somehow felt removed even though they were barely thirty feet away. It made him feel vulnerable, almost exposed, and he drew his wand as soon as he was out of sight.

 _“Lumos,”_ he whispered, and couldn’t help feeling a pang of relief as the light from his wand illuminated the area.

The snap of a breaking twig made him jump, pointing his wand in the direction the noise had come from. “Who’s there?” he called, hoping he sounded more authoritative than afraid. “Come out where I can see you, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

There was silence for a moment, then a chuckle. Harry gripped his wand harder. The light was better than nothing, but he still couldn’t see more than a short distance into the trees, the shadows almost seeming to swallow up the light.

“I’m warning you,” he said – not too loud, couldn’t draw the attention of the police, but loud enough. “I am an authorized agent of MACUSA. Show yourself.”

“Relax.” The voice was casual, unconcerned. “It’s just me.” More twigs snapped underfoot as a shadowy figure began to emerge from the darkness. “No need for any dramatics.”

Harry frowned. The voice was familiar. He hadn’t heard it in a while, but he was sure –

“Hullo, Harry.” Louis grinned as he strolled into the beam of Harry’s wand. “So MACUSA decided to show up to work after all.”

Harry almost dropped his wand. “Louis?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I usually doing?” Louis replied. “I’m investigating.”

“You’re a reporter, not an Auror.”

“This doesn’t seem like a story to you?” Louis asked. Shadows played across his face in the dim wandlight, but he didn’t seem intimidated. “Two bodies found in a park with mysterious wounds that seem to be both human and animal?”

“Why would the wizarding world care?” Harry asked. “There’s no indication that this has anything to do with magic.”

“You’re here,” Louis pointed out.

“MACUSA likes to be thorough,” Harry retorted. “We’re funny that way.”

Louis smiled that same teasing smile that had always managed to both infuriate and excite Harry back at school. It usually meant he was feeling mischievous, which could be equal parts fun and annoying.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Harry said abruptly. He was falling much more heavily on the annoyed side of things tonight.

Louis arched an eyebrow. “Why not?” he asked. “It’s a free country, isn’t it?” He grinned at his own joke, inviting Harry to join him. Harry’s frown deepened.

“This is an active investigation, and I don’t want you interfering.”

“I haven’t interfered even a little,” Louis protested, still smiling.

“Or getting hurt.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Harry’s grip tightened on his wand. “This area is closed off for investigation,” he said. “MACUSA has granted me the authority to enforce that, if I have to.”

To his surprise, Louis laughed. “So the little mouse grew a backbone after all,” he said. “I always wondered if there was some badger in you.” He stepped closer, and Harry raised his wand instinctively. Louis stopped, rolling his eyes. “That won’t be necessary.” Harry didn’t move. Louis sighed. “I have everything I need for now,” he said. “See you around.”

Harry’s brow knit in puzzlement. “What does that-”

But with a twist and a crack, Louis was gone.

Harry almost screamed in frustration. He tugged on the ends of his hair, forcing himself to take a deep breath. Then he pushed down his feelings and turned back to the crime scene. There was work to do.

~*~

The report Harry delivered the next morning was uninformative to say the least. In his defense, there was very little to know.

"There just isn't a lot of evidence in the first place," Harry explained for a third time. His boss, Helene, still looked less than impressed. "All anyone knows for sure is that two people have been killed, and nobody's really sure what their wounds are from. There's no known connection between the two victims, no signs of any robbery, nothing to give the slightest hint as to what's going on."

"And you checked for-"

"There was no sign of spells, potions, anything like that,” Harry repeated tiredly. “Just the inexplicable wounds."

Helene nodded thoughtfully. "All right," she said at last. "I'll file your report. Return to regular duties. Dismissed."

Harry frowned. "Is there going to be any further investigation?"

Helene looked back up at him. "Why would there be?" she asked. "You said there was no evidence that the attacks were magical."

"Well, yes," Harry said slowly. "But there's no evidence that they weren’t."

Helene arched an eyebrow. "It's impossible to prove a negative," she said flatly.

"I know, I know." Harry shifted his weight. "I just think... you know... we should keep an eye on it. In case."

Helene studied him for a moment. "Do you believe that the attacks are magical?"

"I - well - it's not-" Harry sighed. "There was just, like, a reporter who-"

Helene's eyebrows shot up. "A reporter?" She repeated. "Why wasn't this in your report?"

Harry blinked. "I didn't think it was important," he said.

"Everything's important," Helene said. "Who was it?"

"Louis Tomlinson?" Harry said. "He's an investigative reporter for-"

"The Daily Prophet," Helene finished. "I know him."

Harry tried not to look surprised. "Oh," he said. "I didn't realize -- well, he generally has good instincts, so. Yeah."

"Indeed." Helene tapped a manicured finger against her chin. "Well, I can't put you on it without more than the hunches of a journalist, even Louis Tomlinson. But I'll keep an eye on it. If there's anything new, you'll be the first to know."

Harry nodded. "I appreciate that," he said. He turned to leave.

"Harry," Helene called after him. He turned back. "You're not getting... overly invested, are you?"

Harry sighed inwardly. She did this every so often, and he always hated it. "It is our responsibility to police our community if we wish to remain separate from the non-magical community,” he said. "A crime committed by a wizard is a threat to the secrecy of the entire wizarding community."

Helene nodded. "Good," she said. "Do you know this Louis fellow?"

Harry shifted. "Depends on your definition," he said. "He was a few years ahead of me at Hogwarts, and in a different house. We spoke a few times, but I wouldn't call us friends." Louis had, he couldn't help remembering, at that bizarre meeting at his apartment. It still boggled his mind. "But he's been successful at the Prophet because he has good instincts. He's been on top of cases before the British Ministry once or twice. If he thinks there's something to find here, I think it's worth taking seriously."

"Hmm," was all Helene said. "Well, I'll let you know."

~*~

Three days later, he was sitting in his office working on a report on misuses of love potions when a paper message crawled onto his desk and unfolded itself.

 _There was another attack last night,_ it said in Helene’s neat hand. _A jogger witnessed at least part of it. The notes from her interview suggest that her statement made no sense, and she was likely traumatized by the event. Lea Sarfati, 42 Fraser Avenue, apartment 172._

Harry sat back in his chair. Witness statements that made no sense to police often made more sense to wizards. He quickly scribbled out a return message: _Thanks for the tip. On my way. Will let you know how it goes._

He sent it on its way, and began packing up his things. He was just about to leave when another message arrived. It was short and simple, only three quick words: _Remember your duty_. He sighed, crumpling it in one hand and dropping it into the wastebasket.

~*~

Harry’s knock on the door was answered by a short woman with lanky brown hair. Her face was pale beneath her tan skin, and her posture was stiff and tense. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice soft and nervous.

“I hope so,” Harry said. “And I hope I can help you. You’re Ms. Sarfati, correct?”

“Yes.” Her expression was guarded, despite his soothing tone. “Who are you?”

“I’m Edward Smythe,” he said, pulling a card from his pocket and handing it to her. “I’m a memory specialist with the NYPD. Do you have a few minutes to speak to me?”

“I’m not sure-”

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” he said reassuringly. “I understand that you’ve recently had a traumatic experience, but I can help you. I’ve dealt with many cases like yours. May I come in?”

She bit her lip, worrying it with her teeth. “All right,” she said at last, stepping back from the door. She led Harry into the living room, where she curled up on the end of the couch. A mug of tea sat on the coffee table, and a multicoloured afghan was draped over the cushions. Harry sat carefully on the opposite end of the couch.

“I took the day off work,” Lea said after a moment. “I was in no state – and then I was up all night with the police, and-”

“I’m sure it’s been a difficult day for you,” Harry said soothingly. “I’m sorry to force you to relive it again so soon, but memories are most clear closest to their formation.”

“My memories _aren’t_ clear,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s the problem!”

“The truth is in there,” Harry said. “It’s just a matter of sifting it out.” He met her eyes, smiling gently. “Now, can you tell me what you remember?”

“But it doesn’t make any sense!” Lea said. “The police said I must have been so traumatized that my brain made it up. It can’t possibly have been right.”

“That’s all right,” Harry said. “I’m just trying to get a sense of what you think happened. It’s often similar to the truth, just a bit garbled. It’s a place to start – for both of us.”

Lea shrugged. “If you say so,” she said. “I was out for a walk last night – I couldn’t sleep; I just got back from a business trip. I know it can be dangerous, but I’ve taken self defence classes, and I’ve never had anything happen.” She paused. “Well, not until last night.”

“And what happened last night?”

Lea shivered. “I was taking my usual route, around the Pond, when I heard – it was like a screech, or something. Not a scream, it was – it didn’t sound human.”

She fell silent for a long moment. “Then what?” Harry prompted.

Lea sighed. “I went towards the sound,” she said. “I’m sure that sounds crazy, who would go towards something like that, right? But I guess – well, I thought it was an animal in trouble or something, and I wanted to see if it was okay. But when I went into the woods, I saw-”

She stopped again.

“What did you see?” Harry pressed.

She shook her head. “It’s impossible,” she said. “It makes no sense.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said. He tried to keep his voice calm and soothing. “I’m not judging you, I just want to know what you remember. I’m here to help. But I need you to tell me what you remember.”

Lea sighed. “I remember – there was a bit of a clearing, or a space in the trees, and in the middle there was this woman, kneeling on the ground. Her clothes were all ragged, and she was sobbing and – I thought she was hitting the ground, but it was actually-” She stopped abruptly, her face growing even paler.

“I understand,” Harry said. He moved a bit closer, reaching out and placing his hand on top of hers on the couch. “What else?”

Lea swallowed hard. “She was – the woman was muttering something? I couldn’t really make it out, but it sounded like, ‘not here.’” She forced a strained smile. “I mean it could have been ‘hot ear’ or something.” She laughed, a slightly hysterical sound that petered out in a moment. “But I called out to her, asked her if she was okay. And then she turned around and – her clothes were just _covered_ in blood.”

“What did you do?” Harry asked softly.

“What do you think I did?” Lea asked sharply. “I screamed. And then she started walking towards me, and I tried to run, but I tripped and fell. She kept coming, though, and I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stand. If that man hadn’t been walking by and heard me…” She shuddered.

“Did he see the woman?” Harry asked.

Lea shook her head. “No,” she said, “no, when she heard him coming, she… ran off.”

“Ran?” Harry prompted.

Lea looked down. “You’ll think I’m crazy,” she whispered. “ _I_ think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think anything except that you’ve had a very frightening experience,” Harry said. “What did you-”

“She turned into an owl.”

Harry blinked. “An owl.”

“Yeah.” Lea nodded. “A huge, greyish owl. Like I said, crazy.” She sighed. “I just wish I could forget everything.”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. “Do you,” he said quietly. His fingers brushed against his wand, tucked into his pocket. He knew protocol, he knew what he had to do. He just always felt guilty. Even if he understood why. Even if what she’d seen had clearly traumatized this woman.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Lea added. “I’m never going running at night again.”

“I don’t blame you.” Harry stood. “I’m going to try something, if that’s okay?”

“Knock yourself out,” Lea said. Harry walked around the couch, standing behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders.

“Close your eyes for me,” he said. Lea obeyed. “Now, can you picture a room full of boxes for me?”

Lea frowned. “Why-”

“Trust me,” Harry said.

Lea nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Good,” Harry said. “Now, imagine that each of these boxes has a certain set of memories in them. There’s one for your mom, one for your dad. There’s one for your favourite class in school.” He paused for a moment, feeling Lea sway slightly under his hands. “Open one of the boxes,” he instructed her, “and tell me what’s inside.”

Lea nodded again. “My cousin,” she said. Her voice had a slightly dreamy quality. “We always played House together when we were little. When I was in the fourth grade, I was getting bullied, and he beat up the other kid.”

Harry smiled. “Good,” he said again. “Now there’s a new box right next to you, and you’re going to load in all the memories from last night. Stack them all in there, nice and tight, and then tape it shut tightly. Have you done that?”

“Yes,” Lea said. “What do I do with it?”

“Carry it to the door,” Harry said, drawing his wand. He touched it to the crown of her head. “ _Obliviate._ ”

~*~

Back in his office, Harry pulled out a piece of parchment and began scribbling rough notes of the interview. He would type them up later for his report, but he always preferred to record his initial thoughts by hand.

 _Probable Animagus,_ he scrawled. _Witness reports a woman who turned into a large, grey owl. Muttering something possibly ‘not here’? Motive unclear. Possibly distraught?_

He was so intent in his writing that he didn’t notice the door to his office open, and nearly spilled an entire bottle of ink when a cheery voice rang through the room.

“Hard at work, I see?”

Harry jumped, and only a quick spell from Louis saved his notes from being turned into a sodden black mess.

“Thanks,” Harry said, watching the ink stop in midair and return itself to the bottle, the stopper rising and landing in the top with a small pop. “I owe you one.”

“That spell comes in handy a lot at the Prophet,” Louis said, sauntering in. “And you can repay me now.”

“How’s that?” Harry asked.

Louis perched on the edge of his desk. “Whatcha writing?”

Harry realized that he had almost instinctively covered his scrawled notes with one hand as Louis approached. “Just some notes,” he said evasively.

“What on?”

“An interview.”

“With?”

Harry sighed. “Find someone else to interrogate for your stories,” he said tiredly.

Louis pouted prettily. “But you’re the only person here I know,” he said. “Heck, you’re practically the only person I know in this entire country.”

“You’ve always been good at making friends.”

“You’re also the only Auror working this case,” Louis pointed out.

Harry gave a small smile in spite of himself. “There is that,” he said. “You could try my boss, Helene, but-”

“I did, actually,” Louis said. “No dice. But she did let slip that you were investigating, and that you’d gone to interview a witness?”

“That’s true.” Harry left it at that.

After a moment’s pause, Louis let out a sigh that sent Harry’s quills spinning in their pot. Harry couldn’t suppress another small smile.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Louis said.

“I learned from the best.”

There was a moment’s pause – he had surprised both of them. Louis recovered first. “I’m honoured you think so highly of me,” he said. “Now will you pretty please tell me who your fascinating witness is?”

“She doesn’t remember a thing.”

Louis looked unimpressed. “Not anymore, obviously,” he said. He shook his head. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“I’m really not.”

“Not even if I beg?” Harry opened his mouth to say no, but Louis plowed right along. “Even if I got down on my knees in front of you and pleaded for you to tell me just the smallest detail?”

Harry’s brain briefly short circuited at the image, before he pushed it aside. “I don’t like to comment on active investigations,” he said. “It always risks tipping off perpetrators.”

Louis tilted his head to one side. “An active investigation, eh?” he said. “With a perpetrator who might be tipped off by reading the Prophet? Sounds like you think there’s magic at play then.”

Harry was flustered. Honestly, how was Louis able to see right through people like that? “I didn’t say – you thought there was magic involved already.”

“Yes, but you have a witness,” Louis said, grinning. “And if you still think there’s magic involved, I suspect my zany hunches have steered me right again.” He turned, pulling a notebook out of his pocket and beginning to scribble notes with a quill he seemed to have pulled from nowhere. “Thanks for the tip, Harry!” he called, sauntering out of the room.

Harry tried to think of something to say, something to do, but as usual, Louis was beyond his powers of reasoning. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and watched him walk away.

~*~

Harry couldn’t sleep.

The room was silent, the bed was soft, the blankets were warm, but his thoughts wouldn’t quiet down. Every time he closed his eyes, trying to lull himself into restfulness, he found them open again and staring at the ceiling only a few minutes later.

At last, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. He changed out of his pajamas and put on a jacket to ward off the light chill of the night air. As he tromped down the stairs of his building, he tried to pretend to himself that he was just going for a walk in the park to clear his head and tire him out. It had nothing to do with the baffling murders and the inexplicable feeling that there was much more to the story than there appeared.

It had everything to do with that, and he knew it.

After ten minutes of walking, he abandoned all pretense. The three bodies had all been found in the same general area of the park, and it was farther from his apartment than he remembered. Taking a quick glance around to make sure no one was in sight, he turned on the spot and disappeared into the crushing blackness of Apparation.

He hated Apparation. It was incredibly useful, but he truly hated it.

He rematerialized in a restroom just inside the Central Park Zoo. It was closed at this time of night, obviously, but Muggle locks hadn’t been any great obstacle to him for some years now. A whispered spell to unlock the gate and another to lock it behind him, and he was outside again.

He stuck to the paths that traced their way through the park, walking slowly with his hands deep in his pockets. It was colder than he’d expected, and between that and the nervous energy that vibrated under his skin as he peered into the shadows of the park, rather than tiring himself out he found himself growing even more awake.

He was just passing the bridge when his ears caught a faint sound behind him. He froze, cold electricity suddenly tingling along his spine. The noise came again, the faint scuff of footsteps on gravel. Harry slipped a hand into his pocket, his fingers wrapping tightly around his wand, but he didn’t turn around, half afraid of what he might see.

“Hey!” The voice echoed through the darkness, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around wild-eyed. “Hey, Harry!”

Harry’s wand was outstretched, “ _Stupefy!_ ” flying from his mouth before he could process that the voice knew his name, the voice sounded familiar, the voice –

The voice belonged to Louis Tomlinson.

The spell went wide, thankfully, Harry having been too startled to aim properly. Louis took a step back, raising his hands in front of him

“Easy there!” he called. “It’s just me.”

“Shit, Louis!” Harry pressed a hand to his heart, feeling like he had to push it back into his ribcage. “Don’t startle me like that.” He moved towards Louis, stepping carefully along the darkened path.

“Sorry,” Louis said, and he actually did look contrite. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Harry was momentarily thrown off guard. The supreme prankster of Slytherin, apologizing for scaring him? And meaning it? Harry shook his head; it didn’t bear thinking about. “What are you doing here?” he asked instead.

“Same as you I imagine.” Louis nodded to the woods that rose up on either side of them. “Investigating.”

“I’m not-” Harry started to say, then pulled himself back and shook his head. “Do you ever sleep?” he asked instead.

That startled a laugh out of Louis. “Sometimes,” he said. “When I don’t have anything better to do.”

Harry smiled as well. “Sorry about trying to stun you.”

Louis waved him off. “I’m fine,” he said. “You have lousy aim. And I probably deserved it. _I’m_ sorry for scaring you.”

Harry frowned, trying to think how to ask the question that was flipping around his brain. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked after a moment. “You were always such a prankster at Hogwarts.”

Louis tilted his head to one side. “That’s all in fun,” he said. “No one gets hurt, no one is offended. I want to make people laugh, not make them hurt.”

“Oh,” was all Harry could think to say.

“Anyway,” Louis said, after a moment of silence. “If we’re both doing the same thing, I figured we might as well do it together.”

Harry forced his brain back into reluctant motion. “Makes sense,” he said. “As long as you’re not expecting to pick my brain for a story.”

Louis laughed. “My clever plan, ruined,” he said cheerfully. “And here I thought you’d be more eager to lend a hand to an old friend.”

That was the second time Louis had said they were old friends. It still baffled Harry, but it was a nice thought, to be connected to this person who had always seemed so magnetic and yet so untouchable. Perhaps Louis just considered everyone his friend.

“It’s funny,” Louis said as they started walking again, their feet keeping rhythm with each other. “I’ve been to this side of the pond a couple of times, but since I do most of my work in England or Europe, that’s where most of my contacts are. Here I’m mostly on my own.”

Harry glanced at him. “I feel like I’m supposed to feel sorry or give you some sappy line about how you’re not on your own,” he said drily. “But I’m not going to.”

Louis laughed. “Fair enough,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to do anything, though. It’s just interesting, is all. It’s a different game. I can still contact people if I need to, obviously, but it takes a bit longer.” He flashed a grin. “I like a challenge.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I hope this lives up to your expectations, then,” he offered.

Louis glanced over at him, and the grin widened just a hair. “I think it just might,” he said.

~*~

Two nights later when Harry found himself restless again, he didn’t even try to fool himself as he slipped on his shoes. And this time, it was he who saw Louis silhouetted against the Pond.

He was about to call out to him when he remembered how well that had gone the previous time. Approaching didn’t seem like a better tactic, however. After a few moments thought he twisted on the spot, Apparating to a spot just past a bend in the path. A few steps later he was face to face with Louis, who jumped only slightly before smiling.

“You’re right,” he said. “That is disconcerting. Hello, Harry.”

“Hello,” Harry said. “If we’re going to keep doing this, perhaps we should have some kind of signal.”

Louis burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the trees. “Like what?” he asked. “You yell ‘carrots’ when you see me? Or I yell ‘bananas’?”

“Heey,” Harry said, but he couldn’t help smiling. “You’re such a goof. Why food?”

Louis shrugged. “Just fond of the shape.” He winked at Harry, who almost choked on his own tongue. They walked in silence for a few moments, before Louis spoke again. “You know I’m gay, right?” His tone was matter-of-fact, almost conversational, but tinted with just a touch of uncertainty.

Harry coughed. “No, yeah,” he said. “It was, um. Quite a sensation.” Louis had come out publicly in his column a few years back, and despite having broken a story on wizards robbing Muggle homes the month before, and doing a piece on false positives with Traced children the week after, his sexuality had been the talk of the wizarding world for most of the summer.

Louis made a face. “I wish it hadn’t been,” he said.

“Do you regret it?”

The question slipped out before Harry could stop it. Louis looked at him curiously for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t regret it. It was… something I needed to do. For a lot of reasons.” There was another silence, shorter this time. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no, not at all,” Harry said quickly. “I’m just… not used to people being so…”

“So what?”

“Open,” Harry said after a moment. “Self-assured. Unashamed. I admire it, don’t get me wrong. It’s just different from what I usually see.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Louis said sharply. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “But I also know that a lot of people don’t think that way.”

Louis looked sideways at him, his eyes seeming to pierce right through him, peeling away the layers and laying everything bare. Harry coughed and looked away. _He_ didn’t like to look at those parts of himself, so feeling like Louis could see them was uncomfortable. “Anyway,” he said. “Maybe we should just meet up somewhere. I mean, if we’re coming at all. You don’t have to every time. I probably won’t. But if we do-”

“I know what you mean.” Louis laughed. “How about the bridge?”

“The one where you scared me last time?” Harry teased, and Louis laughed.

“And here I thought you’d forgiven me.”

“You’ll just have to redeem yourself,” Harry said. “Midnight tonight?”

“It’s a date,” Louis said, smiling.

Harry fought back the confusing sensations pooling in his stomach. “It’s weird, isn’t it,” he said instead. “Making casual plans to meet up so we can search for a serial killer.”

Louis shrugged. “It’s our bit,” he said. “Gotta save the world somehow.”

Harry smiled. “At least this little corner of it,” he agreed.

~*~

As Harry emerged from the subway the next morning, he heard the newsies’ eager young voices carrying through the streets of New York, and his heart sank.

“Fourth body found in Central Park!” they called, waving papers in the air like flags, or like swords that cut deep into Harry’s chest. “Police still baffled!”

Harry bought a paper off a rosy-cheeked young scamp, who thanked him with a gap-toothed grin and a tip of his hat. He skimmed the story as he walked the rest of the way to MACUSA Headquarters, trying not to feel like a failure. He and Louis couldn’t patrol the whole park, obviously. Even though the murders had occurred in a fairly small radius, it was still too large to keep entirely safe. But he felt responsible, somehow, like he should have stopped this. Like if only he’d worked a little harder, or been a little smarter…

“I guess you heard the news.”

Harry jerked upright at his desk at the sound of Louis’ voice from his doorway. He glanced down at the newspaper he had been bent over, rereading the story for what must have been the sixth time.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

Louis walked in, settling himself in a chair, but the usual bounce in his step was gone. He felt the weight too.

“It’s not our fault,” Harry found himself saying aloud. “We can’t protect everywhere.”

Louis’ expression said that he had been having the same argument with himself. The lopsided grin had none of its usual warmth, however, and faded almost as soon as it appeared. “You and I both know that doesn’t make it hurt any less,” he said.

Harry nodded. “I just wish I knew what to do,” he admitted. “I wish there was something I _could_ do. But instead I’m helpless as some crazy Animagus kills innocent Muggles.”

Louis’ eyes sharpened, and a quill and notebook seemed to appear in his hands from nowhere. “An Animagus?” he asked. “What makes you say that?”

Harry’s temper flared. He slammed his hand down on his desk. “For pity’s sake, Louis, can you try to have some common decency for once?” he said. “These are people’s lives we’re talking about here, human beings, and all you care about is your scoop?”

Louis froze, and then slowly put the notebook away. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

The anger drained out of Harry as quickly as it had appeared. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“No.” Louis shook his head. “You were completely right. That was inappropriate. I get – caught up, sometimes. It’s not an excuse.”

Harry shrugged. “It hardly matters,” he said. “It’s not like knowing helps anyone.”

“Did you check the registration?”

Harry gave Louis a scornful look. “What am I, an idiot?” he said. “Of course I checked. There are two owl Animagi registered with MACUSA, but neither of them live anywhere near New York. And neither of them are the right kind of owl.” Louis opened his mouth and then closed it again. Harry sighed. “The witness from last week told me she saw a woman turn into a large grey-coloured owl. That’s all I know.”

Louis scratched at his ear. “If it’s all right with you,” he said tentatively, “may I share this information with some of my contacts? They may be able to give us information, or make a connection that we can’t.”

Harry bit his lip, but nodded. “We need all the help we can get,” he admitted.

Louis stood. “I’ll make a few calls,” he said. “You’ll be the first to know if I find anything out.”

Harry nodded again, but said nothing. Louis started to leave, but paused at the door.

“I won’t print it,” he said. “Not until we catch them.”

Harry looked up in surprise. His mouth moved, but he couldn’t figure out what question to ask. Louis gave that crooked smile again, and this time there was the slightest glimmer of light in it.

“Wouldn’t want to tip them off,” he said. “Besides, you’re not on the record. And it’s all just rumours and uncertainty until we actually catch them.”

Harry blinked, slowly, trying to make sense of it. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I appreciate that.”

Amusement flickered in Louis’ eyes. “You really are something else,” he said.

Then, before Harry could even start to formulate a response, he was gone.

~*~

“Do you get any time off?” Louis asked when Harry showed up the next night. “At work all day, and then they have you patrolling the park nights?”

“That’s not-” Harry stopped, but it was too late.

“Not what?” Louis asked, frowning. He had that look, the one that said he wasn’t going to let go of this until he had answers. Harry supposed that tenacity was what made him such an incredible reporter. But tonight, it meant that there would be no avoiding the question or dancing around the truth.

Harry sighed. “That’s not MACUSA,” he said. “I’m here because I choose to be. They didn’t ask me to patrol. They’ve barely asked me to investigate.”

Louis stepped back in surprise. “But that’s insane!” he said. “There’s magical murder afoot, and they don’t even want to assign an Auror to take care of it?”

Harry smiled bitterly. “Nice to see you can still exercise your headline-writing muscles,” he said. “And no. They don’t.”

“But people are _dying_.”

“Muggles,” Harry said quietly. “Muggles are dying. And MACUSA…” He trailed off, biting down the words that wanted to spill across the path in front of them

Louis touched his arm. “What is it?” he asked softly.

Harry looked up at him, rare anger burning in his chest. “Doesn’t give a shit about Muggles,” he said flatly. “The only reason I’m on this case at all is to protect the _wizards_. They don’t care about saving Muggle lives. They just don’t want the wizarding world to be exposed.”

Louis looked shocked. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Harry said. “The culture here is so different. The first people I told I was Muggleborn still look at me like I’m scum.” He grimaced. “I don’t tell most people anymore.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Louis said. “How can you stand it?”

Harry shrugged. “You have experience hiding an integral part of yourself,” he said. “This isn’t all that different. How did you stand it?”

Louis’ face dropped, indignation fading away and leaving only a half-haunted expression. “I almost didn’t,” he said, so quietly that Harry could barely hear him. “Harry, just – be careful, please. Secrets… they can weigh on you.”

Harry blinked, surprised. “I know,” he said at last. “I’m used to it. I’ll be okay.”

Louis stared at him a moment longer, and Harry once again felt like Louis was reading his every secret thought. Then Louis shook his head and the spell was broken. “I suppose you know yourself best,” he said. “But don’t let them persuade you that different means broken. That it means less. You’re not less.”

There was an oddly fierce look in his eyes, and Harry found himself agreeing instinctively. “I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”

They walked on in silence for a moment before Louis spoke again. “Sorry if that was weird,” he said. “I just… it drives me absolutely mad, the prejudices of some people.”

Harry chuckled. “Bit ironic, you being a Slytherin, then,” he said.

Louis made a face. “Technically that’s a prejudice too,” he said. “Though you’re not entirely wrong. It’s not all bad – there were plenty who didn’t care what you are, just what you can do – but there were definitely others who I tried to avoid.” He shrugged. “Stereotypes aren’t all wrong, but they’re not all right either. They can oversimplify.”

Harry nodded. “I guess I had a few preconceived notions of you, too,” he said. “Especially when you showed up here – but, I mean, it’s been a decade – you’re different, I’m different. It’s been – really interesting, these last weeks.”

Louis smiled. “It has,” he agreed. “But now I’m curious – what did you think of me in school? What were those notions?”

Harry chuckled. “Oh, nothing awful,” he said. “If anything, I was half in-awe of you, and a bit envious. You were like a god among us. Most of the girls wanted to be with you, and most of the guys wanted to be you.”

“Most?” Louis said, a teasing smile playing across his face.

Harry shrugged. “Some of the guys wanted to be with you too.”

There was a silence that hung in the air for just a moment too long to be comfortable. The expression on Louis’ face said that he hadn’t been expecting that.

“And what about you?” Louis asked. His voice was quiet, but it pressed at Harry, seeping under his skin. “What did you think of me?”

Harry bit his lip, hovering between truth and safety. “There’s probably not much I didn’t think of you at some time or another,” he said at last.

He tried not to look at Louis, not quite wanting to see his reaction. His heart was pounding – telling someone always had that effect, even when he was almost certain of the reaction he would receive. At last, he could bear it no longer, and he glanced over at Louis.

Louis was staring at him with an intensity that made him squirm. Harry looked back down and kept walking.

“Harry,” Louis said at last. His voice was even, almost casual, but too much so, to the point where it was unnatural. “Are you… is what you’re saying-”

“Yes.” Harry’s voice was short and precise. “I’m gay.”

Louis let out a long breath. “Oh,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean – sorry, that was the wrong question. I guess I just wondered-”

“It’s a subject that gives me no great pleasure to talk about,” Harry said quietly. “I’d think you of all people would understand that.”

Louis frowned. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.

Harry let out a sharp bark of laughter that was more bitterness than genuine mirth. “You say that,” he said, “and yet even you didn’t come out until you were already successful. And then you tried to bury the news – even if it didn’t work.”

“I just didn’t think it was news,” Louis said. “It shouldn’t be anyway.”

Harry shrugged. “For now, it is,” he said. “And you’re an accomplished journalist. You’re smart and popular and talented and funny and everyone you’ve ever met loves you. I’m _not_. I’m just me. I’m just some no-name Muggleborn Auror, who’s never done anything interesting. I don’t have the reputation to bank on that you did. I’d be finished.”

“But it’s not right,” Louis persisted. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

“But it _is_ ,” Harry spat, spinning to face him. “It _is_ that way, and there’s not a thing either of us can do about it.”

Louis bowed his head. “You’re right,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“That’s right, you shouldn’t have,” Harry agreed, but the fight had gone out of him. He was just… tired. He was so fucking tired. “I know it’s not right, Louis; it’s an argument I have with myself on a fairly regular basis. But for the time being, I’m stuck. I live with it.”

“I just… worry,” Louis said. “I wish it wasn’t necessary.”

Louis worried about him? Harry tried not to think too hard about it, shrugging tiredly. “Maybe someday,” he said. “In the meantime, I have this. I make do. I’m happy, Louis. It’s not perfect, but it’s not bad.”

Louis smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “May we someday dare to hope for better than ‘not bad,’” he said.

~*~

The next morning, there was a note on Harry’s desk when he arrived at work. _See me in my office,_ it read, in Helene’s neat, precise hand. Harry set the note down with a sigh, lifting it a moment later as though it might say something different. It didn’t. He briefly considered charming it so that it did, but rejected the idea as a useless gesture. He forced himself back to his feet, his limbs heavy with a combination of apprehension and exhaustion. He wasn’t sure what was coming, but he was almost certain it would be unpleasant.

“Come in,” Helene called as he knocked on the door. “Oh good, it’s you. Sit down. I wanted to talk to you.”

Harry lowered himself cautiously into the hard-backed chair in front of her desk. It was uncomfortable, more so than usual since he was already sore from the walks with Louis. He made a mental note to buy some painkillers.

“What did you want to speak with me about?” Harry asked.

Helene was flitting around the office, opening and closing drawers or flicking through stacks of paper. It made Harry nervous.

“Well,” she said, “It’s about the Central Park thing.”

“Oh?” Harry had to force himself not to jump onto the defensive. “What about it?”

“We’re closing the case.”

His eyebrows shot up. “You’ve apprehended the killer?”

“Not exactly.” Helene straightened a display of perfectly straight framed photos.

“And by not exactly you mean…” Harry trailed off, waiting for her to finish the sentence, but she didn’t. He sighed, finishing under his breath: “By not exactly you mean not at all.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Helene said gently. “You’ve made no progress. And there appears to be no danger-”

“No danger to _you,_ you mean.” Harry’s voice was hard. “That’s all you care about, right?”

Helene turned, shock plain on her face. “Of course I care, Harry,” she said.

“No,” Harry shot back. He was on his feet now, though he couldn’t remember standing. His hands were balled in fists at his sides. “You don’t care. None of you do. As long as it’s just Muggles getting killed, you don’t give a rat’s ass. People are dying out there – they found another yesterday, which makes four – and we have no idea who’s doing it, but you’ve decided that as long as the wizarding community isn’t in danger, all those non-magic folk can just go and stuff themselves. It’s horrific. It’s appalling.”

Helene’s back was ramrod straight as she met his gaze, her eyes as cold as his. “I should have known you’d get overinvolved,” she said. “Allowing you to continue on this case in the first place was a mistake. You take things far too personally when it comes to No-Majs.”

“Overin– allowing me to-” Harry was spluttering with rage now. “You really are absolutely heartless, aren’t you? This is my _job_ – to investigate magical crimes.”

“Your job is to investigate threats to the wizarding world,” Helene corrected. “It has been determined that this is not one.”

“And who’s going to stop her, then?” Harry shouted. “The Muggle police? They don’t even know what they’re looking for. And a fat lot of good they’re going to be against someone who can do magic, or Apparate, or turn into a goddamned owl. We’re the only ones who _can_ stop her.”

“You are out of line, Mr. Styles,” Helene said.

“No,” Harry shot back. “You are.” He shook his head. “I don’t care what you say. I don’t care if you fire me. I will not step away from this case.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Helene’s voice was like the gunshot crack of breaking ice, sharp and cold. “You were a good employee.” She moved to stand behind her desk, as though it gave her some kind of additional authority. “You have thirty minutes to collect your belongings and leave the premises. Anything left in your office will be delivered to your door within two business days.”

Harry felt as if he had been punched. He wasn’t surprised, but it still hurt. “Fine,” he managed. “Good riddance.”

He hoped it sounded stronger than he felt. He managed to keep his head held high until he was out of the office, but he stumbled the rest of the way back to his office in a daze. He started shifting things into a small cardboard box, but after a few minutes he gave up and collapsed in his chair, staring at the wall.

“You all right, Harry?”

It took Harry several seconds to realize that the voice was addressing him, and several more to manage to focus his attention on the friendly face hovering in the door. He’d met Liam his second day with MACUSA and struck up a conversation when Harry asked him about his accent. Liam had been born in England, but sent to live with his aunt and uncle in the States when he was around five, when his parents decided that their job as diplomats involved too much moving around for a child.

“Hey Liam,” Harry said. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

He was not fine.

Liam didn’t seem particularly convinced by Harry’s piss-poor lying, either. He took a hesitant step into the office. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Harry shrugged. “Got sacked.”

“Sacked?” Liam’s head jerked back in surprise. “You? But why?”

“I refused to back off the Animagus murder,” Harry said. “Helene says I’m ‘taking things too personally.’”

“Oh,” Liam said. “Wow, that’s, um.” He paused. “Are you?”

Harry gave him a withering look. “Only compared to magical racists,” he said. “I believe that a life is a life, pureblood or Muggle alike. Apparently, that’s something of a rarity around here.”

Liam looked suitably chastised. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Harry shook his head. “‘S fine,” he said, though it wasn’t, entirely. “At least you’re willing to see them as human, even if it’s not your first instinct.”

“I grew up here,” Liam said with a shrug. “It’s what I learned, I guess. But that doesn’t make it right.”

Harry sighed and got to his feet. “It is what it is,” he said. “And for now, that means I’m fired.” He began piling things into the box again, focusing on the things that were important or fragile or private. The rest of it would be someone else’s problem. “I’ve got enough money to last me for a while,” he said, placing his favourite quills atop a photograph of himself and his parents. “I’ll keep working on the murders, and once that’s done we’ll see what comes next.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be an Auror, is all.”

“That’s crazy,” Liam said. “You’re one of the best damn Aurors in this office. Everyone knows that.”

“And yet I’m the one packing my stuff into a cardboard box,” Harry retorted, gesturing at nothing in particular. “What do I have that’s so special?”

“You _care_ ,” Liam said, stepping forward and tugging a glass paperweight out of Harry’s hand. Harry hadn’t even realized he was holding it, much less brandishing it. Liam set it gently into the box. “You care about what you’re doing, about the people that you’re helping.”

“Helene has a term for that,” Harry said, scowling. “‘Taking things personally.’”

“Exactly,” Liam said. “That’s your greatest strength.”

Harry snorted. “If my greatest strength is getting me fired, I’d hate to see any of my weaknesses.”

Liam sighed. “Harry,” he said. “Please. I know you’re hurt, you’re angry, you’re upset-”

“You’re damned right I’m upset!” Harry shouted. “I’ve had to basically beg to stay on this case, despite there being _four_ murders in two weeks, and now I’m off it because they don’t think wizards are in danger. They don’t care at all.”

“But you do,” Liam said, gripping Harry’s shoulder. “You do, Harry, and that’s why you’re so good at what you do. This isn’t just a job, or a cool thing to do. It’s not even about the community, not for you – it’s about the individual people.” Liam shook his head. “There are a lot of Aurors in this office,” he said. “And hundreds more in other offices all around the world. I’ve met a lot of them, since they like sending me on ‘international collaboration’ trips.” He grimaced. “I swear, I travel more than my parents did. But I’ve met a lot of people who do this for a lot of reasons, some good, some bad. And some of them do a lot of good. But the ones who do the most good are the ones who care the most about the people they’re helping. And that’s you, Harry. That’s you.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “Thanks,” he said at last. “But how am I supposed to help people if I can’t even help myself? If I don’t even have a job?”

Liam sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe if you solve the case, they’ll rehire you. Maybe you can find a job somewhere else. I just know that someone like you – you’ll always be helping people. It’s what you do.”

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry turned to see a short, squat goblin standing in the doorway, scowling. “Yes, Gelrak?” he said.

“Ms. Horlyck has asked me to escort you out of the building,” Gelrak said. “Please follow me.”

Harry nodded and picked up his box, but Liam grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Remember,” he said. “It’s your compassion that makes you the Auror you are. That makes you the _person_ you are.”

Harry smiled, though it was tired and didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re a good friend, Liam.”

“Please follow me,” Gelrak repeated, sounding only mildly annoyed.

“I’m coming,” Harry said, moving towards the door.

Liam followed them into the hallway. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything about the case,” he promised.

Harry smiled over his shoulder, slightly more genuinely. “Thank you,” he said again.

He tried not to look back again. He tried not to feel the tears pinpricking against the backs of his eyelids, or at least, he tried not to let them fall. If a few slipped free, Gelrak, at least, was polite enough not to comment.

~*~

Louis was practically bursting with excitement when they met up that night. “I may have a lead,” he said. “I sent what you told me off to a few sources, and I just got something back that sounds promising.”

Harry felt his spirits rising for the first time all day. He’d spent most of the afternoon lying on his bed in the dark, and he’d very nearly decided not to come, unable to face the prospect. But he’d vowed to solve this, so he’d forced himself up and outside. Maybe it was going to pay off sooner than he’d have dared hope.

“You remember Zayn, right?” Louis continued. Harry did – quiet boy, a Ravenclaw a year ahead of him, always polite and well-behaved – but Louis continued before Harry could have answered. “So he went into Muggle Studies, and he does research into like Muggle history and customs and the like, so he’s a fairly regularly source of mine. And he said that it sounds like this Muggle legend – oh, where is it-”

He was digging energetically through his bag, his arm buried almost to the shoulder. At last he crowed triumphantly and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. “He sent me this letter,” Louis said, waving it in the air. “He copied the passage – let me see – ‘The Stikini are sinister monsters from Seminole folklore. Originally, they were evil witches, who transformed themselves into owl-beings. By day they still resemble Seminole people, but by night, they vomit up their souls, along with all their internal organs, and become undead owl-monsters that feed on human hearts.’”

He looked triumphantly up at Harry, who was unimpressed.

“I’ve never heard of these stick-things in my life,” he said. “If the woman is trying to stir up fear with a Muggle legend, she picked one that’s way too obscure for anyone to recognize.”

“Maybe it’s something you learn later in Muggle school,” Louis persisted. “After you came to Hogwarts.”

Harry shook his head. “My parents would have learned about it then,” he said.

Louis frowned. “Maybe it’s just something Americans learn about, not Brits.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But I doubt it. We don’t learn about ancient Celtic legends in England, and Indian culture isn’t really respected here.”

“You just have to ruin all my fun,” Louis said with a sigh.

Guilt pricked at Harry’s conscience. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to-”

“I’m _teasing_ ,” Louis said, shaking his head. “I appreciate it – better to find out now than after I run an article that turns out to be complete nonsense.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know how to respond. “It doesn’t really get us anywhere, though.”

Louis tapped his chin with one finger. “Maybe it does and maybe it doesn’t,” he said. “It wouldn’t work, perhaps, but maybe she didn’t know that. It’s a place to start, at least.”

Harry found himself nodding. “It’s more than we’ve had before,” he agreed. “I guess the only question is – why? Why would she want to scare people away?”

Louis didn’t have an answer.

~*~

They’d been walking for perhaps half an hour when Louis popped the question.

“So do you want to tell me about it?”

Harry tried not to show that Louis’ voice had startled him, but he suspected it was a fruitless endeavour. Feigning ignorance was probably equally fruitless, but he tried anyway. “Tell you about what?”

Louis levelled a look that said he was about as convinced as Harry had expected. “You’ve been quiet all night,” he said. “You’re hyperfocused and jumping at everything.”

“Maybe I’m just taking things seriously.” _Personally,_ his mind whispered. He wished his mind would shut up.

“You were always taking things seriously,” Louis said. “This is different. Either something great has happened or something terrible has.” He paused. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Harry said nothing for a long moment, the only sound the crunch of gravel under their feet. “Not really,” he said at least.

To his surprise, Louis just nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Just wanted to offer.” Harry blinked at him, his mouth slightly open. Louis glanced over and chuckled. “What, you think that cause I’m a reporter I can’t leave well enough alone?”

“Something like that,” Harry said.

Louis shrugged. “I wasn’t asking as a reporter,” he said. “I was asking as – I hope – a friend.”

Harry nodded. “I appreciate that,” he said. “I guess I just haven’t processed it entirely yet myself. Sorry if I’m a bit off.”

“Don’t apologize,” Louis said with a shrug. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Harry made a face. “Not completely,” he said, “but I’ll get there.”

Louis glanced at him again, concern tracing lines in his face, but still he didn’t ask anything. Harry’s already fairly high opinion of him rose several notches.

“Have you thought of any reasons for scaring Muggles away?” he asked, changing the subject.

Louis shook his head. “Money is always the go-to, but I don’t see any profit in this,” he said. “Maybe if someone wanted to buy the land, but why this particular section? And to do what?”

“It’s probably worth checking if anyone is trying to buy it,” Harry said. “But it does seem like a long shot. Or trying to drive business away from a competitor – there’s just no one here.”

“It’s hard to even tell who the target is,” Louis said. “Is it just Muggles, or is that just by chance because there are more Muggles than wizards? Are they selected, or random? Are they killed here or brought here?”

Harry shook his head. “I keep coming back to the woman,” he said. “From what the witness said – she didn’t seem quite right. She was disheveled and, like, sobbing or something.”

“Sobbing?” Louis’ eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

Harry nodded. “That’s what she told me,” he said. “And muttering, ‘not here,’ over and over.”

Louis looked at him sharply “You’re sure that’s what it was?”

Harry shrugged. “I heard it second-hand from a Muggle woman who was fairly traumatized by the whole thing,” he said. “I’m not sure of anything.”

Louis nodded. “Strange,” he said. “Very strange.”

Harry shrugged. “I certainly didn’t know what to make of it,” he said.

“It sounds,” Louis said slowly, “like something happened to her. Something bad.”

“Something in the area, maybe?” Harry said. “And she wants to keep people away from where it happened?”

Louis nodded. “Definitely seems plausible,” he said. “But what?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know.”

They walked in near silence for nearly an hour, both lost in their own thoughts. Harry alternated between thinking about the case and thinking about losing about his job. Every time he caught himself ruminating on the latter, he gave himself a mental shake and tried to push himself back, but as the night wore on it seemed to happen more and more.

When he saw Louis yawn, he nudged him gently. “Cuppa at mine?” he offered.

Louis’ head jerked in his direction. “Fuck, yes,” he said enthusiastically. “No one in this bloody country knows how to brew a proper tea!”

Harry laughed, really laughed for the first time all day. “Savages, all of them,” he said.

“Tell me about it!” Louis said. “Some of the stuff they call tea – why would anyone drink that _garbage_? I’m honestly insulted.”

“I’ll try to measure up to your expectations,” Harry said, still chuckling.

Louis shuddered. “My expectations have never been lower,” he said. “And yet, places here still manage to limbo under them.”

“You could make your own?” Harry offered.

“I have been,” Louis said. “But it’s always nice to have someone else do it for me.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Here,” he said, holding out a hand.

Louis glanced at it. “What?”

Harry shifted nervously. “I’ll Apparate us there?”

“Oh!” Louis laughed, smiling self-deprecatingly. “Right.” He took Harry’s hand, and a few uncomfortable seconds later they stood outside Harry’s building.

Upstairs, Harry set the kettle to boiling as he pulled out mugs and measured out tea leaves. He hadn’t realized his hands were shaking until Louis reached around him and tugged the spoon from his grip.

“Let me,” he said, and Harry gratefully gave over the task. He leaned against the counter, watching Louis work, his hands deft and sure. “Do you take milk or sugar?” Louis asked.

Harry blinked, pulling himself back into his head. “Two sugar and a dash of milk,” he said, pushing himself upright. He grabbed the milk from the refrigerator and handed it to Louis. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Louis said. “Besides, you’re the one giving me tea – good tea, at that.”

Harry laughed. “I had ulterior motives,” he said.

Louis paused mid-sip, then swallowed. “Oh?” he said, his voice a shade higher than usual. “What’s that?”

“You asked me what was wrong earlier,” Harry said slowly. “And I didn’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to,” Louis said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you or anything, I was just – concerned, I guess, because you’re usually-”

“It’s fine, Louis,” Harry said, smiling in front of you. “You’re fine.”

“Oh,” Louis said. “Well – good.”

Harry took a sip of his own tea, wondering if there was any good way to say it. There didn’t seem to be. He decided that short and direct was best.

“I was fired this morning.”

The mug slipped out of Louis hand, almost seeming to fall in slow motion as it shattered on the floor. Louis jumped back as the tea splashed. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Harry turned to grab a tea towel from the oven. When he turned back, Louis had his wand out and was siphoning up the tea, the mug already whole again and sitting on the counter. Harry picked it up.

“Thanks,” he said, tracing the rim. There had been a crack in one side since he’d knocked it against the sink while washing it the previous month, but now it was as good as new again. “It’s funny, I’ve been a part of this world for well over a decade, and yet I still don’t think to use magic sometimes.” He remade the tea, adding just the right amount of milk before handing it back to Louis.

“You-” Louis shook his head. “I’m sorry, but – what happened? Why did – what were they thinking?”

Harry shrugged. With Liam, he’d been angry, bitter. Now he was just tired. “They wanted to take me off the case,” he said.

Louis nearly dropped his cup again, just barely catching it in time. He hissed as the hot liquid burned his thumb, and quickly set the mug on the counter. “Why?” he said again. “I just – that’s absurd!”

“I thought so,” Harry said with a shrug. “Guess I should have kept that to myself.” He paused. “Then again, I don’t regret it. I meant every word.”

Louis squinted at him. “Harry Edward Styles, what did you do?”

Harry grinned sheepishly. “I yelled at my boss,” he said. “She said I was overinvolved, I said she was heartless.” He shrugged again. “It wasn’t really surprising that I got fired.”

“You – I can’t believe – Harry!”

Harry smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless before.”

Louis shook his head, smiling too. “I just can’t imagine you yelling at anyone,” he said. “Much less your boss. That’s something _I’d_ do, not you.”

Harry shrugged again. “I guess even I have my limits,” he said. “She reached them.” He shook his head. “Anyway. I’m not telling you because, like, I expect anything, or-”

“I know,” Louis said. “But if you need anything-”

“I’m fine,” Harry cut him off. “I’ll be fine. I just… I dunno. I wanted you to know, I guess.”

“I appreciate that,” Louis said. “I’m glad you trust me enough to confide in me.”

Harry chuckled. “You’re a fairly trustworthy guy,” he said. “Mischievous, but honest and reliable.”

Louis laughed too. “I like that,” he said. “I’ll put that on my business cards.”

“Oh my God.” Harry shook his head. “You would, too.”

“I would,” Louis agreed. He tilted his head to one side. “You just keep surprising me, Harry.” A smile that Harry couldn’t quite read was playing across his features.

“How do you mean?” Harry asked after a moment. “Is that a good thing?”

Louis lifted a hand, brushing the backs of his fingers lightly across Harry’s cheek. Harry stilled, his eyes glued to Louis’ face, the crinkles around his eyes, the shape of his smile.

“It’s a good thing,” Louis whispered. He stepped closer, crowding into Harry’s space as he rose up on tiptoe and pressed his lips softly against Harry’s.

Harry couldn’t move. It was just so unexpected, so baffling, so – he didn’t even know what. He didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer, to kiss him back or yell at him. He didn’t know how to feel, didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do. So he just stood there, frozen, for the longest two seconds he’d ever lived.

When Louis pulled away, he flashed a crooked half-smile, but it was fainter than usual, tighter around the edges, uncertainty and nervousness creeping into the cracks. Harry wanted to say something to him, but he couldn’t think what, couldn’t make his mouth move or his vocal cords vibrate. And Louis gave him no time to recover, turning and striding for the front door.

“I’ll see you around,” he called as he opened the door, flashing another of those smiles that were all wrong.

“Louis, wait,” Harry finally managed, forcing his frozen legs into motion. But before he could take two steps he heard the telltale pop of Louis’ Disapparation.

He took a few more steps towards the door, and then his legs gave out beneath him and he sunk to the floor. His fingers pressed to his lips as he sat there, dazed and wondering – what on Earth had just happened?

~*~

The next day felt infinitely long. Without his job to keep him busy, Harry found himself with more time on his hands than he knew what to do with, and more thoughts on his mind than he wanted anything to do with. After spending most of the morning puttering around and ruminating, he decided to put the afternoon to good use and see what he could find out about the south end of Central Park.

His first stop was the court house, where he learned that no one was trying to buy any part of the park, which was not for sale anyways. He was fairly sure the clerk was rolling her eyes at the stupid British boy, but he said nothing, just smiled and thanked her for her time.

So that was out. There was still the possibility of business competition, but that was harder to check up on, and Harry wasn’t buying it anyway.

Which left the other theory. The theory that something had happened there. There were problems with that too – starting with, what had happened – but it nevertheless seemed the most plausible. It could have been an assault of some sort, or an attack, but Harry’s gut said no. The attacks seemed too random, too shapeless. There was no pattern in victimology – there had been men and women, young and old, short and tall. None of them looked alike, none of them seemed to know each other, the only connection was where they’d been found.

Still, it was the closest thing to a lead that they had, and Harry had every intention of seeing it through.

~*~

Louis was quiet when they met up that night.

“Hey,” Harry said.

Louis smiled, his eyes soft but tired. “Hey,” he said. “How was your day?”

“Boring,” Harry said, making a face. “Spent most of it in the library, looking through newspaper archives.”

“Find anything?” Louis asked as they started walking.

Harry shook his head. “Nothing useful,” he said. “I went back two years, but if anything majorly bad happened in that area of the park, it didn’t make any of the papers. I did find out that no one is trying to buy the park, though – it’s not really for sale. I think the clerk thought I was a stupid foreigner.” He smiled, trying to coax Louis to do the same, but Louis just shrugged.

“Anything is for sale given the right price,” he said. “But we knew that was a long shot. I checked out some of the restaurants and attractions, nobody knows any reason why someone might be trying to run them out of business, nobody has any enemies.”

“Or at least none they told you,” Harry pointed out.

“Fair enough,” Louis acknowledged with a tilt of his head. “But I’m inclined to think they were telling the truth.” He tapped his temple with his wand. “There’s a bit of Legilimency in my family – I’m not particularly gifted, but I can usually tell when someone’s lying to me.”

Harry glanced at him sharply. “Isn’t that a bit invasive?”

Louis shrugged. “Only if people are lying to me,” he said. “Besides, it’s not like I can turn it off. But it certainly comes in handy in the newspaper game.”

“I suppose it must.” Harry was still frowning.

Louis sighed. “This is why I don’t tell people often,” he said quietly. “Everyone thinks you’re reading their mind. The only thing I know about you that you didn’t tell me is that you didn’t have a crush on Naomi in fourth year.”

Harry’s head jerked up. “You remember that?”

“It was the only time you ever lied to me,” Louis said, “so it stood out.” He smirked. “You’re a terrible liar, though, so I probably would have known anyway. I don’t know how you keep magic a secret from the Muggle world.”

Harry grimaced. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “I don’t keep in touch with many Muggle friends. It’s just… hard. The law is the law, and it’s there for a reason, but that doesn’t make it easy.”

“The law is the law,” Louis repeated with a teasing smile. “You sound so serious, like you’d arrest yourself if you stepped out of line.”

Harry’s chest clenched and he looked down. “Not anymore, I guess.”

Louis’ face fell. “Shit, Harry, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean – I didn’t think – I’m sorry.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m fine.” He shrugged. “Just going to have to get used to it, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Louis whispered.

Harry shrugged again. “It is what it is,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

Louis tilted his head to one side, bemusement written on his face. “Are you quoting my own tattoo at me?”

Harry frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“My tattoo.” Louis tugged down the collar of his shirt, revealing a tattoo written in a delicate cursive. As Harry watched, the words faded, then reappeared a moment later as though they had been written on with a quill pen.

Harry stepped closer, fascinated. “I’ve never seen wizard tattoos before,” he said.

Louis laughed. “They’re not common,” he said. “You have to know the right places to go.” He smoothed his shirt back into place. Harry wished he hadn’t. “I got it a few days after I came out,” Louis continued. “I was just… tired, I guess. And I wanted to remind myself that, like, I can’t control the people around me. I can’t control what other people think or say or do. I can only move forward with what is.”

Harry smiled. “I love it,” he said. “I really do.”

Louis smiled too. “It cost a fortune,” he said. “But it was worth it. I needed it, I think.”

Harry nodded. “I get that,” he said, tracing a finger around his left wrist. He held it out in Louis’ direction. “I wanted this one for the same reason.” He chuckled. “It doesn’t move, I’m afraid – strictly non-magical.”

Louis grasped his wrist gently, running his thumb over the blocky letters that told the world, _I can’t change_. His lips moved silently as he mouthed the words.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. His fingers traced over the assortment of small images inked into Harry’s skin. “How come I’ve never seen these before?”

“I usually conceal them,” Harry said with a shrug. “Not entirely well-respected in the office environment. But I still know they’re there.”

“You really are full of surprises.”

In an instant, Harry was back in his kitchen last night, standing across from Louis as he uttered almost the exact same words. A moment later he was back in the present, and the awkwardness in Louis’ posture said he remembered too. He dropped Harry’s wrist, taking a step away from him.

“While we’re on the subject of surprises,” he said, his eyes on the ground, “I wanted to apologize for last night. I overstepped.”

Harry was too surprised to speak.

“I was – I thought – I don’t know what I thought.” Louis shook his head. “But I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

Harry searched for his voice, searched for words. Louis glanced up at him, then glanced away.

“I probably messed everything up, didn’t I?” he said. “Everything was so nice, so comfortable, and then I had to go and ruin it, and now you probably think-”

“Louis.” Harry touched his shoulder, pulling him to a standstill. “You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m not – I was just, well, surprised. Then and now.”

Louis glanced up at him. “Oh,” he said softly. “You’re not – I don’t know, mad?”

Harry almost laughed, but the situation felt too fragile – like they were on the cusp of something, but he wasn’t quite sure what. “I’m not mad,” he said.

Louis nodded. “Well, I’m glad,” he said. “I would hate to lose you. It’s been great getting to spend time with you and everything these last few weeks – so different from at school. I feel like I really know you.”

He sounded so earnest, and Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Me too,” he said. “You’re so similar to how you were back then, but so different too.”

Louis’ face was soft. “I feel like we have more in common than I ever imagined.”

There was a moment of silence, of peace that seemed to hang in the air between them. Louis broke it first. “I really do apologize, though – if I made you uncomfortable, or-”

“You didn’t.”

Louis looked up at him with an expression that was half nervousness and half hope. Harry felt like he was being pulled towards him, like gravity had shifted. He took a step closer.

Louis’ hand rose, settling gently on Harry’s shoulder. “Is this,” he whispered. “Are you…”

Harry swallowed hard. He’d never done this before, not really, not like this. He’d been with guys before, but it had always been them who made the first move, and he just followed. But this – this was a collaboration.

“Louis,” he breathed. “I want…”

He didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know how to say it, didn’t know how to form the unfamiliar words with his tongue.

Louis stepped closer, his hands sliding behind Harry’s neck. “Harry,” he said, his breath shallow. “Can I kiss you?”

It was all Harry could do to nod his head. “Please,” he whispered.

And then Louis’ lips were on his and it was perfection.

The night before, Harry’s brain had short-circuited. He’d been too surprised to enjoy himself, too startled to respond or even remember anything except shock and excitement and warmth, and then Louis pulling away and it felt like a physical loss.

This was everything he’d lost and more. This was everything he could have _dreamed_ and more.

Rather than a short circuit, this was lightning sizzling through his veins. Louis’ hands were soft as they traced along Harry’s face, but he kissed with a passion that left Harry breathless. It was all he could do to keep his knees from giving out, and he found himself unable to do anything except lose himself in Louis’ lips and his hands and his smell and hope it never went away.

Louis pressed his forehead against Harry’s, pulling back just a fraction of an inch as he gasped for air. “God, Harry,” he whispered between breaths. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Harry ran his hands along Louis arms, brushed them through his hair, wrapped them around his back. “I just want to keep kissing you forever,” he said. “This is – I’ve never – nothing like this.”

Louis pulled back another centimetre. “Harry,” he said quietly. “Are you – am I your first?”

Harry paused, then shook his head. “I’ve been with men before,” he said. “But, like – never anything serious, nothing long term.” He made a face. “I always broke it off,” he said. “I wanted something real. Something where I didn’t feel like a dirty little secret.”

Louis was almost perfectly still. “And this?” he asked, so quietly Harry had to strain to hear him. “Is this… real?”

Harry felt as though his chest would burst open from everything he was feeling. “I hope so,” he said. “This is the first time I’ve felt – I don’t even know how to describe it.”

Louis touched Harry’s chest, just above his heart, his fingers warm and solid, and it felt like they were a part of Harry already. “I feel it too,” was all Louis said.

Harry ran his fingers along the side of Louis’ cheek, tilting his face up to bring their mouths together again. Their lips had just barely brushed when a scream split the night.

They both jumped, pulling apart. The fire that had burned through Harry’s veins a moment earlier turned suddenly to ice as he pulled out his wand.

“It came from this direction,” Louis said, pointing, his wand already in hand. “Come on.”

They raced down the path. Harry’s heart was pounding, and he could feel the pulse in his hands and feet.

Another scream, shorter this time. Harry turned off the path, shoving aside branches as he forced his way through the undergrowth. A jet of light shot from behind him and he whirled around.

“Just me,” Louis panted. “Use _Diffindo_.”

Harry turned back, using the spell to slice through the brush. Louis was a step behind, tossing the fallen plant scraps to either side with waves of his own wand. The screams continued, but each one was shorter and weaker, and finally stopped. Harry swore, trying to move faster, but nearly tripped over a tree root. Louis just barely caught him before he fell.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said sharply. “But someone else isn’t.”

They both heard the sobbing at the same moment. Harry’s grip tightened on his wand but he didn’t slow down. Seconds later, they found themselves free of the undergrowth, a hundred feet from the western edge of the Pond. And there, by the water’s edge, was the barely visible form of two people, one kneeling over the other.

“Not here.” The voice was raw and pained, but it carried clearly through the night air. “Not here, not this place – leave this place in peace!”

Harry stepped forward, wand outstretched. “Step away from them,” he said, his voice strong. Anger wrapped itself around him like a cloak, lending him courage. “Put your hands in the air and back away.”

The kneeling form turned, and Harry faltered momentarily. The night was dark, but the faint moonlight illuminated wild hair and tattered clothes. There were dark splotches on the woman’s hands, face, and clothes – dirt or blood, Harry couldn’t tell. Maybe some of each. A gnarled wand was grasped in a clawlike hand.

“No-Majs are not welcome here,” she hissed. “They have done enough damage – poisoned this place enough.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Louis moving sideways, leaving a wide space as he moved towards the crumpled form by the water. Harry forced himself to swallow his fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “But you can’t keep killing Mug – No-Majs.”

The woman glanced over at the body, and Louis froze. “I never wanted this,” she said, and the sorrow in her voice startled Harry. “But they wouldn’t stay away. And they can’t be here.” She shuddered. “The things I saw…”

“What did you see?” Harry stepped closer, bringing her attention back to him. His anger was fading, replaced by something almost resembling pity. “What did you see that made any of this seem okay?”

The woman stiffened. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” she said. “But this space is stained with innocent blood. It remembers the horrors it has seen.”

“So you create more?” Harry had no idea what she was saying, but he had to keep her talking. “How does that help anything?”

“I protect this place from the people who have desecrated it,” she spat. “If you saw what I saw – if you could see it–”

“Explain it to me,” Harry said. His voice was quiet and soothing, his posture relaxed. “Tell me about it.”

She shook her head. “My parents called it a gift,” she said. “To me, it is only a curse. I do not want to see it. No one else can.”

“I can help you,” Harry said. “I _want_ to help you.”

She looked at him, her eyes piercing. “You can’t,” she said simply. “No one can.”

With that she turned and ran. Harry was so surprised he almost dropped his wand, and by the time he recovered she was twenty metres away. He pointed his wand, trying to aim at the bobbing, fleeing target, but his spells went wide. A moment later she was transforming, shrinking as her arms sprouted feathers and she took off into the night. He kept trying, but in seconds she had disappeared.

Harry let his arm fall to his side, frustration and disappointment crashing onto him like a wave. They’d been so close, and then he’d let her get away. He wanted to scream, wanted to kick something, wanted to punch someone.

“Harry.” The quiet voice brought him back to himself. “He’s alive, Harry. We have to get him help.”

Harry shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He couldn’t help what had happened. He _could_ help this man. “How is he?” he asked.

“Bad,” Louis said. “He’s lost a lot of blood. But he’s still breathing – just.”

“We’ve got to get him to the Hospital,” Harry said. “Help me lift him.”

Between the two of them, they managed to manoeuver the unconscious stranger upright, each of them supporting one side. “Hold on,” Harry said. Only when he felt Louis’ hand grip his shoulder did he turn on the spot, disappearing into the crushing blackness with a crack.

~*~

It was nearly dawn when Harry left the Hospital. He’d sent Louis home hours earlier.

“Are you sure?” Louis had asked. “I don’t mind staying. And I don’t want you to be alone.”

Harry had shaken his head. “No need for both of us to stay up,” he said. “And I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by people.”

“That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

Harry sighed. “I do,” he agreed. “But it’s fine, Louis. Go home. I’ll be fine.”

Four hours later, his eyes were sticky with sleep, but as he stumbled into a cab (he didn’t trust himself Apparating) he felt a small measure of relief. The man would be fine. He might have some scars, and he would definitely need some careful memory alteration, but he would live.

It didn’t make up for letting the murderer get away, but it was something.

He fell into bed fully clothed and was asleep as soon as he hit the mattress.

He awoke to a familiar tapping at the window, and for a moment considered ignoring it. The tapping didn’t stop, however, so next he considered throwing something at the window. Or, like a spell. That wouldn’t break the window. Or hurt the poor bird.

He was too tired to think of one. He was too tired for anything.

Sighing, he shoved himself to his feet and opened the window. He clumsily ripped open the envelope, which contained a note from Helene asking him to report on what had happened in the park the previous night. He couldn’t even tell if she was annoyed or apologetic and he didn’t care. He tossed the note onto his desk and scrawled his reply on the back of the envelope: _Try me after more than an hour and a half of sleep. I don’t work for you anymore, and I seem to recall that being your idea. But I saved a man’s life last night, and I don’t give a damn that he’s not a wizard. That’s more than you can say._

He would probably regret being that rude after a few more hours of sleep, but for the moment it felt strangely satisfying.

Five hours later he finally dragged himself out of bed. He took a badly needed shower and brushed his teeth, then returned to his room and sat on the bed. What next?

He stood, walking into the main room to prepare a cup of tea, when he saw a white rectangle on the floor by the door. His name was scrawled on the front in an unfamiliar hand, and when he turned it over he saw it was a note from Louis.

 _Hope you got home safe,_ it said, the letters messy but legible. _Stopped in on your boss this morning – she’s charming as ever. Heading to the library to do some research now – Main Branch. Hope to see you there._

Harry lowered the paper, folding and unfolding it as he thought. He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to see Louis just yet – not after everything that had happened the previous night. But on the other hand, he desperately wanted to know what Louis’ theories might be, and what he might have found out. The need to solve this case ate at him, burrowing under his skin and curling in his chest.

He wished he understood what was going on in the woman’s mind. She’d clearly been broken by something she’d seen, though he couldn’t even begin to guess what. It changed things, though – it wasn’t malicious, not really. It didn’t make it right, but it changed the scales. There was a reason to her actions. And in that reason might lie the key to finding her.

If only they could figure out what it was.

Half an hour later, Harry was walking up the steps of the Main Branch of the New York Public Library. He felt like the stone lions were watching him from either side but forced himself to ignore them. The library was the best place to find the information he needed. And two heads were better than one. It was logical.

He found Louis standing over a table covered in papers, frowning down at them. The adjacent tables were unoccupied. Harry paused for just a moment, watching him, then forced himself to approach.

“How’s the research coming?”

Louis straightened so fast that a couple of papers blew off the table. “You’re here,” he said. “How is he?”

“How is-” It took Harry a moment to catch up. “From last night? He’s recovering. Might have some scars, but he’ll make it.”

Louis let out a slow breath. “Thank goodness for that,” he said. “Your boss wouldn’t even tell me that much – lovely woman, by the way.”

Harry chuckled wryly at the sardonicism in Louis’ voice. “She can be… difficult,” he agreed.

Louis looked at him in surprise. “That’s all?” he asked. “She doesn’t give a shit about Muggles, thinks less of you because you’re Muggleborn, takes you off a serial murder case, and fires you, and all you have to say about her is that she can be difficult?”

Harry frowned. “She’s just doing her job,” he said defensively. “Disliking her for it won’t do any good. Yes, she’s racist – so is almost everyone in this country. I hate it, but it’s the norm.”

Louis shook his head. “I don’t mean to criticize you,” he said. “I’m just… impressed, I guess.” He touched Harry’s arm gently. “I don’t think I could be that forgiving.”

Harry shrugged, letting Louis’ hand fall away. “Will hating her do any good?” he asked, not really looking for an answer.

“I sometimes enjoy it,” Louis said with a wry smile. “But to each their own, I suppose.”

Harry didn’t have a response to that. “The patient didn’t know anything useful,” he said instead, changing the subject. “He was just walking along the water when he was attacked. Didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything, didn’t do anything. There’s no specific reason why he should be targeted.”

Louis nodded. “It sounded like her targeting was geographical,” he said. “Trying to keep people away from a certain area.”

Harry sat in one of the chairs around the table, peering at the papers. “Have you found anything useful?”

Louis shook his head. “These are police reports on incidents within ten miles of the park for the last year,” he said. “I’ve been reading them all day, but the only thing I’ve gained is a splitting headache.”

“Hmm.” Harry flipped through a few papers, then pushed them aside. He felt Louis sit down next to him, but didn’t look up. “What if,” he said slowly. “What if we’re on the wrong track?”

“What do you mean?” Louis sounded puzzled.

Harry scratched his chin. “She kept going on about what she saw.”

“Right,” Louis said. “So, like, she witnessed a crime or something. But it doesn’t seem to be in any of these reports.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think she witnessed anything,” he said. “She said no one else could see it, that it was a gift.” He looked at Louis. “I think she’s a Seer.”

Louis pulled back. “Impossible,” he said. “Seers see the future, not the past. It’s about what will happen, not what already has.”

“Why?” Harry pushed back. “Just because you’ve never heard of it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

Louis opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I would have heard of it,” Louis said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Harry stared into space, remembering the day a man had shown up at his doorstep and flipped his world upside down. “When I was eleven years old I was told I lived in a world where magic was real,” he said. “Since then I’ve seen people turn into animals and animals turn into water goblets. I’ve seen unicorns and hippogriffs and mermaids and things I never could have imagined. I’ve seen _magic._ ” He laughed. “I’m not willing to accept anything as impossible anymore.”

Louis nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “So say you’re right… how do we use that? We don’t know who she is, we don’t know what she saw…”

“I don’t know.” Harry shook his head. “Maybe someone will know who she is. There can’t be many people who can see the past; it would stand out. I can ask around.” He pulled out a pen, scribbling hasty notes on the back of a random report. “As for what she saw…” He paused in his writing. “Stained with blood,” he said aloud. “No-Majs… the people who…” He whirled around. “What do you know about the history of witch hunting?”

Louis’ eyes widened. He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket, scribbling something on it. “I don’t know much,” he said. “But fortunately, we’re in a library. Come on.” He led Harry across the room to a large desk populated with librarians. When one met his eyes, he approached her and laid the request slip on the counter. “What books do you have on witch hunts?” he asked. “Specifically in this area?”

The young woman smiled at him. “We have quite a number of books,” she said. “Are you looking for any time period in particular?”

“No,” Louis said. “Just bring us your most comprehensive book on witch hunting in this area – like, within the city itself.”

The woman frowned. “I’m not sure we have anything that specific,” she said. “New England, certainly – the Salem Witch Trials and whatnot – and perhaps New York state, but I don’t know of any specific to the city.”

Louis was practically vibrating. “As precise as you can find,” he said. “But not at the expense of thoroughness.” He smiled that disarming grin that had always gotten him out of trouble in school. “I’m sure you’ll find something useful.”

The woman looked mollified and took the slip, disappearing into the stacks.

Louis turned to Harry. “Divide and conquer?” he asked. “Or stick together?”

Harry chewed at his bottom lip. “Splitting up might be more efficient,” he said. “You’re more experienced with research, and I have more contacts in the city.”

Louis nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. “Meet back here?”

Harry nodded. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

He turned to leave, but Louis grabbed his arm. Harry looked back, surprised, and Louis looked down. “Sorry,” he said, letting go of Harry’s sleeve. “Just… good luck.”

Harry managed a small smile. “Thanks,” he said. “You too.”

~*~

After ten minutes of arguing with the hospital clerk, Harry wanted to slam his head against the counter.

“As I’ve already told you,” the man was saying, “I can’t release any information about patients to you for reasons of confidentiality.” It might have just been Harry’s imagination, but he seemed to be almost enjoying driving Harry up the wall.

“I understand that,” Harry said for what must have been the sixth time. “I’m not asking you for a name, or for detailed medical records. I’m just asking whether this hospital has ever seen someone with unusual powers of divination.”

“It would be a breach of privacy for me to give you any patient information without explicit permission,” the clerk repeated. Harry wondered how many different ways the man could find to say the same thing.

“The person I’m looking for has already killed at least four people,” Harry snapped. “There’s another man in this very hospital who she almost killed last night. If I don’t find her, he won’t be the last.”

The clerk’s expression didn’t change. “Hospital records can only be released with an order from MACUSA,” he said flatly. “I can’t help you.”

Harry threw his hands up in exasperation, whirling around and almost crashing into a green-robed Healer. The Healer grabbed Harry’s shoulders, steadying him. “Careful there!” he said, a chuckle in his voice. “What’s got you in such a state?”

Harry recognized the Healer, his frosted tips and light Irish brogue making him stand out from most of the Healers. Harry had first met him being treated for a nasty bite from a pixie. He’d introduced himself as Niall (“None of this formal ‘Healer’ nonsense, I’m just Niall”), and his humour had immediately put Harry at ease. Harry had often stopped by to see him since, whenever he was in the Hospital (which was a bit more often than he might have liked).

“Niall,” Harry said in relief. “Thank goodness – maybe you can help me.”

Niall looked concerned. “I will if I can,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“I brought someone in last night,” Harry said. “I don’t know if you’ve seen him – Muggle man, multiple lacerations. He was attacked in Central Park.”

“I saw him, yeah,” Niall said. “What about him?”

“I’m looking for the person who did it,” Harry said grimly. “That man is the fifth person to be attacked. None of the others were as lucky as he was.”

Niall winced. “What do you need?” he asked. “I can get you in to see him, if you need, or-”

Harry shook his head. “He doesn’t know anything useful,” he said. “I’ve already spoken with him. Besides, I was _there_. I saw her, Niall. But she got away.”

Niall had the grace not to comment. “What do you need, then?” he asked.

Harry bit his lip. “I think she’s a Seer,” he said. “But, like, not a normal Seer. I think she can See the past.”

Niall’s eyes widened. “That would be… unusual,” he said. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

Harry’s heart sank. “I was hoping that she might have been seen here before,” he said. “Maybe her parents would have brought her in, since it’s unusual, or if she had problems with it before…” He sighed. “I’ll keep looking.”

Niall grabbed his arm. “Hold on, hot pants,” he said. “Just because I haven’t heard of it doesn’t mean no one has. I’ve only been here for a few years, and that wouldn’t be my department. I’ll make some inquiries.”

Harry looked up, hope stirring in his chest for the first time all day. “Really?” he said. “You’d do that?”

Niall laughed. “I’ve treated plenty of Aurors in my time,” he said. “You guys need all the help you can get.” He smiled, but Harry couldn’t smile back. Niall’s eyebrows knit. “What’s wrong?”

“I, um.” He swallowed. “I’m not exactly an Auror anymore.”

“What?”

“I got fired.” Harry shook his head. “I really don’t want to talk about it. I just want to solve this case.”

Niall regarded him carefully. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t tell me that. If anyone asks, I’m just helping an Auror.”

Harry’s eyes pricked with unexpected tears. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Hey” Niall said, squeezing Harry’s arm. “I trust you.” He smiled crookedly. “Wait in my office, and I’ll let you know what I find.”

~*~

Niall’s office was far too small for pacing, but Harry tried anyway. Papers were piled high on the rickety desk, and bottles of dozens of colours lined the walls. Each bottle was carefully labelled in tight, round writing, though the ink was fading on several. Tiny green statuettes cavorted on the windowsill, and when Harry leaned over for a closer look, he realized the quiet buzzing he’d been hearing was actually the figurines yelling obscenities at the top of their tiny lungs.

“Funny, aren’t they?” Niall said as he walked in, Harry jumped, nearly hitting his head on the window frame. Niall picked up a tiny leprechaun, which struggled and punched his hand with fists the size of a match head. “They were a spell gone wrong, but I love ‘em.”

“I would have thought they were intentional,” Harry said honestly. “Seems like Irish kind of humour.”

Niall laughed. “Exactly,” he said. “Reminds me of home.” He set the figurine down and pulled a thick file from under his arm. “My friend Aiden told me about this interesting case,” he said. “A little girl brought in about thirty years ago. She claimed to have seen a man burying gold bars in a park near her house. And there was gold there, all right – from a bank robbery in 1843.” He smiled. “Sounded interesting,” he continued, “but I don’t have time to read it right now. So I’m going to leave it on my desk for later.” He laid the file atop one of the piles of paper, and turned to leave. “A patient just came in who tried to deal with a fire crab infestation in her back garden,” he added as he opened the door. “I might be a while.”

Harry’s throat was thick. “Thank you,” he said again. “You’re amazing.”

“What are friends for?” Niall said, smiling. “Now go save the city.”

Harry touched the file gently. “I will,” he said.

~*~

Twenty minutes later, Harry stood outside Liam’s office, knocking hard on the door. When it opened, he didn’t give Liam time to speak.

“I need an address.”

Liam blinked. “What?”

“I have a name,” Harry said, fingering the folded papers in his pocket, copies from the file he’d gotten from Niall. He hadn’t read the whole thing, just skimmed, but it had quickly become clear that it was the correct person. Her parents had brought her in when she’d displayed signs of unusual magic, but had taken her back home when there didn’t seem to be any problems. The Hospital hadn’t followed up, since there was no reason to believe that the magic was problematic. She’d been brought in a few years later after a traumatic vision, but released after receiving a Calming Draught.

“A name,” Liam repeated. “For the case? That’s amazing!”

“Only if I can find her,” Harry said grimly. “Which is why I need an address. Francesca Lonmer. Aged 36. Unregistered owl Animagus, but that’s hardly the biggest issue just now. MACUSA keeps records of wizards, right?”

“I think so,” Liam said, frowning. “They’re not always that accurate, though.”

“Well, let’s hope hers are,” Harry said. “I somehow don’t think I’ll find her in a phonebook.”

“I can check,” Liam said, shutting the door behind him. “Follow me.”

Harry shook his head. “You go,” he said. “I have something else I have to do.” He held out a page from the file, tucking it into Liam’s hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Wait,” Liam said as Harry headed down the hall. “Where are you going?”  

Harry turned back to Liam, walking backwards. “I’m getting backup,” he said. “And if we’re lucky, intel.” He paused for a moment. “You may want to gather backup of your own.”

Liam frowned. “Harry,” he said slowly. “I don’t know if – this is just all happening awfully fast.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Yes,” he said tightly. “This is happening right now. Before anyone else gets killed. If I have to, I’ll break into the records myself and face her alone.” He met Liam’s eyes. “I hope I don’t have to.”

Liam looked down. “I hope so too,” he said. “I’ll do what I can.”

Harry nodded. “That’s all I can ask,” he said.

~*~

“Find anything?”

Louis started at Harry’s words. “Shit, Harry,” he said, twisting in his chair. “A little warning?”

“Sorry,” Harry said, not really meaning it. “I have a lead.”

Louis straightened. “You do?” he said. “Just let me pick up these books, and-”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t have a location,” he said. “Just a name. Liam’s looking now. I was wondering if you’d had any luck.”

“In fact I did,” Louis said, his smile equal parts tired and satisfied. He tapped the cover of a thick book titled _Witch Hunts Through the Ages._ “According to this book, there was a particularly fanatical group in this area back in the early 1800s,” he said. “Apparently they were very… effective.”

He flipped the book open to a bookmarked page, and pointed at a passage about halfway down the page. Harry leaned over to read it. “The Sons of Simon were brutal to their victims,” he read aloud. “Those convicted of witchcraft were often tortured before being executed in a variety of ways, including burning, beheading, drowning, poisoning, hanging, and stoning. Many of these executions took place in woods to the north of the city, where Central Park is now located.”

He turned to Louis, his heart pounding with exhilaration. “You did it,” he whispered.

Louis smiled, shaking his head. “ _We_ did it,” he corrected. “I’d never have thought to look for this without you.”

“You’re the master of research,” Harry said. “I couldn’t have done this without you either.”

Louis stepped closer. “I guess we make a good team,” he said quietly.

Harry checked his watch. “Well I hope you don’t mind adding a few more teammates,” he said. “At least temporarily. I hope.”

Louis cocked his head to one side. “How’s that?”

“I asked Liam to get backup,” Harry said. He leaned over, grabbing books from the table and stacking them. “We’ll meet him at MACUSA Headquarters.”

Louis joined a moment later, sweeping papers into large piles. “Probably a good idea,” he said. “We don’t know what she’s capable of. Or what she might do.”

“She seems… damaged,” Harry agreed. “What she saw must have really messed her up.” He straightened the edges of his stack of books. “I hope maybe she can be helped as well.”

Silence hung in the air between them for a long moment. Harry glanced over and saw Louis staring at him, a slightly awed expression on his face. “What?” Harry asked.

Louis shook his head. “You just really are incredible,” he said. “Even after everything – you’re still compassionate. Not everyone would be.”

Harry looked down. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. “She’s still a human,” he said. “And she’s in pain. Pain makes people do strange things. Things they wouldn’t otherwise do.” He checked his watch again, then surveyed the cleared table. “What are we doing with all this stuff?”

Louis seemed to study him for a moment longer, then coughed and looked back at the neat stacks of books and papers. “The papers can go in my bag,” he said, motioning to a small satchel draped on the back of a chair. At Harry’s confused look he chuckled. “Undetectable Extension Charm,” he said. “Cost more than I like to remember, but it’s worth every Knut. It’ll fit whatever you put in it.” He hefted a stack of books from the table. “I’ll take these up to the desk. Back in a minute.”

~*~

Twenty minutes later, Harry, Louis, and Liam stood outside a small apartment building. Half a dozen other MACUSA witches and wizards stood behind them – Liam hadn’t been able to persuade Helene to send a team, but he’d been able to recruit several people who knew him or Harry and were willing to take a chance on them. Harry sent silent thanks to his mother for teaching him to be kind to everyone. It had paid off.

“Remember,” he said aloud, but quietly. “Our goal is to persuade her to come quietly. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“And if she fights back?” one witch asked.

Harry shrugged. “We do what we have to,” he said. “To protect ourselves and to protect others. But we try the peaceful way first.” He made eye contact with each member of their little team. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I appreciate it more than I can say. Thank you for believing in me. I hope I can be worthy of that belief.”

He let the solemnity hung in the air for a moment before returning to business. “You all know your places,” he said, and everyone nodded. “And your roles?” More nods. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go save the city.”

They split up, Harry and Liam going into the apartment while the rest stayed outside. Anti-Disapparation Jinxes had already been laid around the building. Three of their little team would cover the different entrances to the building – one by the main door, one at the fire door, and one in the alley by the window. The rest would climb the fire escape and come in the window. Liam and Harry just had to keep her distracted.

A minute later they stood outside apartment 323. Harry was concealed by a disillusionment charm and standing in the shadows halfway down the hall. Liam stood in front of the dingy brown door, straightening his jacket. He glanced over at Harry, who nodded.

Liam knocked on the door, and Harry held his breath

A few moments later, the door was opened a few inches. “What is it?” asked a thin, female voice. It was calm and even, but Harry would recognize it anywhere, even without the rough hoarseness that ran through it.

“I’m Liam Payne, ma’am,” Liam said. “I’m an Auror with MACUSA, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?” The voice was higher now, though relatively steady.

“It will only take a few minutes,” Liam said soothingly. “I just want to ask some questions about a case we’re working on. I think you might have some information that can help us.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I’m afraid I just don’t have time-”

She tried to shut the door, but Liam’s foot was a solid barrier in the way.

“You don’t need to be frightened,” Liam said, but a bang and a flash of light cut him off as he was thrown across the hallway. The door slammed shut and Harry raced to Liam’s side.

“Are you all right?”

Liam coughed, wincing as he sat up. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice thin. “Go.”

Harry didn’t waste another second. When the door didn’t open to _Alohomora_ , he blasted it off its hinges.

Inside, battle was raging. The woman was holding her own against four opponents, but her eyes were wild and she looked panicked. Spells flew in every direction, and the air was thick with dust.

The closest Auror made a grab for her, trying to restrain her, but fell just short. She grabbed him instead, pulling him tight against her and pressing her wand to his throat.

“Don’t make me hurt him,” she said.

The room fell silent, wands raised, but no one moving an inch.

Harry studied the woman – Francesca. Her words sounded like a threat, but there was something in her voice that seemed almost pleading.

“You don’t want to hurt him.” The words were quiet, but Harry meant them. Some of the other wizards looked askance at him, but he ignored them.

Francesca’s head dropped, just a little. “No,” she said. “But I will if I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry said. He glanced at the others, signalling them to stay calm. “We’re not here to hurt you, Francesca. We’re here to help.”

Her head snapped up. “How do you know my name?”

“I found it,” Harry said. He kept his voice low and steady and calm, like he was talking to a frightened animal, and the tension in her body lessened. “In a file. It said that you had a remarkable ability. And you do, don’t you?”

Francesca’s face crumpled. “I hate it,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “No one believes it’s real. I wish it weren’t real.”

“I believe it’s real,” Harry said. “You can See the past, can’t you? Things that have happened at a specific place.”

Francesca nodded, more tears spilling down her face. “I don’t want to,” she said. “I don’t mean to.”

“And in the park,” Harry continued. “You saw the Sons of Simon, didn’t you? Witch hunters.”

Francesca shuddered. “It was awful,” she said. “The things they did – there were so many memories trapped in that place, so horrible, so much pain-” She broke off, choking on a sob.

Harry took a step closer. “I want to help you,” he said. “You can’t deal with it on your own. Let someone help you.”

Francesca looked up, her eyes wild again. “You’ll hurt me,” she said. “You’ll kill me. I know what I did was wrong, but – I had to protect that place from them.”

Harry tried not to wince at the use of the word ‘them’. “You’ve clearly been through a lot,” he said. “Let us help you to find peace.”

She stared at him for a long moment, seeming to weigh his words. Harry said nothing, letting her think. He could feel the other wizards behind him, shifting uncertainly. But this was the critical moment. This was the moment where she had to choose. He couldn’t make that choice for her.

At last, Francesca sighed. “I wish I believed you,” she said. “But I don’t.”

“NO!”

As Francesca raised her wand, light bursting from the tip, Harry felt himself shoved sideways. He fell heavily to the floor, twisting just enough to see Francesca’s spell hit Louis in the chest, flinging him bodily across the room. He slammed into a wall and crumpled to the floor.

Harry felt like his mind had split in two. One side was screaming, the shrill pitch ringing in his ears. The other side felt like a blanket of ice had fallen over him, a petrifying chill that solidified into crystal focus.

Francesca had bolted for the window after her spell, but the other wizards had cut her off. She was dueling desperately, trying to make it to the window – not that it would help her; the witch in the alley would stop her if she made it out. But she had her back to Harry. He raised his wand, a brutal curse balanced on the edge of his lips.

The image of her tears flashed into his mind at the last second and his hand faltered. He gestured, and ropes flew from his wand to wrap around Francesca’s arms and legs. She struggled against them, but the distraction allowed another wizard to disarm her, and then she was forced to her knees, her back against the wall. Harry stood, striding to stand in front of her. She was openly weeping now, her face red and her hair sticking to her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted – I just wanted to protect-”

“I don’t care,” Harry said, his voice like iron. “You’re a murderer.” With a wave of his wand, one of the ropes lengthened to wrap around her mouth, cutting off her protests. He gestured to no one in particular. “Take her in.”

As soon as he saw hands grasping her shoulders he turned, Francesca forgotten as he crossed the room to Louis. Liam was already there, wand in one hand and dittany in the other. Harry felt the breath whoosh from his lungs as he saw that Louis was sitting up, though his arms were covered in cuts and he was grimacing in pain.

“Louis,” Harry managed, dropping to his knees. “Thank goodness, I was so worried. I thought-”

“She’d killed me?” Louis asked, managing a smile in spite of his pain. “I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said. He gripped Louis’ hand, squeezing it. “Don’t do that again. Please.”

Louis shrugged, and then winced. “Worth it,” he said. “To protect you.”

Harry felt tears prick at his eyes. “Don’t,” he said. “Please. Don’t.” He shook his head. “And diving in front of me? Aren’t you supposed to be the one who always uses magic? I’m the one who forgets and does stupid Muggle things.”

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” Louis teased, smiling. The smile softened. “Or maybe I was just too scared to think properly.”

Liam cleared his throat. “I’ve done what I can,” he said, “but Louis should probably be looked at by an actual Healer.”

Harry shook himself. “You’re right,” he said. He let go of Louis’ hand. “Can you stand?”

“I can try.”

He managed to push himself to his knees, pain clear on his face, before he paused, gasping. Harry tucked himself into Louis’ side, wrapping an arm around his back and supporting him as he found his feet.

“Thanks,” Louis said, swaying a little unsteadily. “What now?”

“I’m taking you to the Hospital, is what,” Harry said. “Hold on.”

Louis grimaced. “This is going to suck,” he said, and then they twisted into the darkness.

~*~

The Healers declared that Louis had two broken ribs and an assortment of lacerations, both easily treated. The lingering effects of Francesca’s curse were slightly more complicated, and Harry and Liam sat downstairs to wait as the Healers worked.

“So,” Liam said after a few minutes of silence. “You and Louis, huh?”

“He’s been a good partner on the case,” Harry said. “More reliable than MACUSA, in any case.” He tried for a smile, to show Liam he wasn’t dissing him, but Liam frowned.

“That’s not – I was-” He paused. “Never mind.”

Now Harry frowned. “What is it?” he asked.

 “Well…” Liam shifted. “I just thought – I mean, the way you acted – and you told me you were-” he lowered his voice so Harry could barely hear it “-you know, _gay_ – I thought-”

“Oh,” Harry said, trying not to wince at the way Liam whispered it, like it was a dirty secret – even though it was and he knew it. “Um, no. Not exactly.”

Liam frowned. “What do you mean?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s complicated,” he said. “And I don’t really want to talk about it. But – was it that obvious?”

Liam scratched his neck. “Maybe?” he said. “I don’t know. I’m not exactly an outsider.” He chuckled. “And I’ve been told I can be a bit oblivious.”

“True,” Harry said absently, glancing around the room. He looked back at Liam. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” Liam said, laughing. “I get that a lot.”

“Mmm.” Harry looked around again. Three of the Aurors they’d worked with were sitting around the same waiting room, engaged in their own conversations. One of them glanced at him, then away, and Harry winced. Did they know? Did they care? He wanted to tell himself it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care what they knew or what they might think, but it was a lie. He sighed. He was so tired of being afraid.

“So,” Liam said again after a minute. “What comes next for you?”

Harry nibbled on his bottom lip. “I don’t know,” he said. “A part of me hoped that Helene would want to rehire me if I solved the case, but I’m not sure I’d want to work for her if she did.”

Liam’s eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

Harry shrugged. “It just feels… demeaning, I guess,” he said. “I don’t want to always have to prove myself worthy. I don’t want to always be under scrutiny. I don’t want to always have to fight for the rights of people who deserve them.” He grimaced. “Of course, if I don’t, I’m not sure who else will.”

“I’ll try to,” Liam offered.

Harry smiled. “I appreciate that,” he said. “It’s a big job.”

“That’s why it shouldn’t be all your responsibility,” Liam pointed out.

Harry shrugged. “I feel responsible,” he said. “But I also feel…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish the sentence.

“You feel what?” Liam asked.

“Lost,” Harry said after a long moment. “Incomplete. I don’t know, it sounds silly, but just – I don’t know. I think it’s time for me to leave.” He grimaced. “Again.”

“Again?” Liam said.

“I left England more than three years ago,” Harry said softly. “Back then I was running from something – from mistakes and rumours and pain and someone who wasn’t what I thought he was.” He glanced at Liam. “Don’t ask, please.” Liam said nothing, and Harry looked away, staring into nothingness. “Maybe I’m running away again,” he said. “But I’d like to think I’m running towards.”

“Towards what?” Liam asked.

Harry smiled wryly. “I have no idea,” he said. “Guess I’ll just have to find out.”

~*~

Harry was packing when he heard the knock. He set the neatly folded shirt atop a pile of others and walked to the door, his feet heavy, but he pasted on a smile before opening it.

“Louis, hey,” he said. “How are you?”

“All right,” Louis said. “Better after a few hours sleep. You?”

“All right,” Harry echoed. He didn’t mention that he hadn’t slept.

Louis shifted his weight. “Can I come in?” he asked. “Or is this a bad time?”

Harry considered saying no, but rejected the idea almost out of hand. He didn’t want to lie, not to Louis. Not that lying would do any good, he remembered.

“Sure,” he said at last, stepping back from the door. “It’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.”

Louis stopped dead as they entered the kitchen. “You’re packing,” he said.

“Gee, I hadn’t noticed,” Harry said. He immediately regretted it and started to apologize, but Louis laughed delightedly.

“There’s that badger again,” he said. He looked around again. “Where are you headed?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Away. West, maybe.”

“What’s west?” Louis asked.

Harry shrugged. “Someplace new,” he said. “Somewhere people don’t know all my… deficiencies.”

“They’re not-”

“I know that,” Harry said. “I know that and you know that but sometimes I think we’re the only ones.”

Louis was silent for a long moment. “What will you do?” he asked.

Harry shrugged again. “I’ll find something,” he said. He cracked a half-smile. “Maybe I’ll rejoin the Muggle world. Fix things, or deliver things. Or start a bakery – I used to be a baker, you know.” He sighed. “Maybe that’s where I belong.”

“But – you’re so much more,” Louis said frowning. “You’re not a Muggle.”

Harry stiffened. “I thought you didn’t see Muggles as inferior,” he said sharply.

“That’s not-” Louis paused. “I guess that is kind of what I said.” He shook his head. “I just meant – you’ve lived in this world for longer than you lived in that one. You’re talented, and you can do amazing things. You deserve everything this world can give you.”

“This world doesn’t want me,” Harry said softly.

Louis stepped closer, running his hand down Harry’s arm. “Parts of it don’t,” he said. “But don’t let those voices drown out the ones that do want you.” He wrapped his hand around Harry’s, brushing his knuckles with his thumb. “I want you in this world,” he said.

Harry pulled away. He tugged his hand from Louis’ grasp, tucking it to his chest as he tried to press down on all the feelings that threatened to sweep over him.

“Harry?” Louis’ voice was soft and nervous. “Did I – I’m sorry if that was – I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Harry whispered around the lump in his throat. “You’re fine. I’m just – I’m not. I can’t.”

He could feel Louis standing behind him, a warm presence that was somehow simultaneously comforting and terrifying. “You can’t what?” Louis asked.

Harry couldn’t answer, didn’t know the answer. All he could do was shake his head, trying not to cry. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

He felt Louis’ hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm. “Harry,” Louis said softly. “Will you please look at me?”

Harry shook his head, but Louis repeated the request and Harry couldn’t find it in himself to refuse him again. He turned slowly, his vision blurry as he met Louis’ eyes.

“Harry,” Louis said again, always so soft and so gentle. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Harry closed his eyes, trying for what felt like the hundredth time to detangle his thoughts into some kind of order. He didn’t know, that was the problem. He didn’t know anything.

“I don’t know who I am,” Harry said at last. “I don’t know who I want to be. In a world that doesn’t want me to be the things I can’t change about myself…” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to do it.”

“By not doing it alone,” Louis whispered. “I’ve been there, remember? I’ve been-”

Harry shook his head. “You had one thing against you and everything else going for you,” he said. “You were the gay scandal, sure, but you were still the golden boy. You always were, Louis, even in school. Everyone loved you.”

“You’re right,” Louis said. “I had a lot going for me. But I promise you, I wouldn’t have survived it if it hadn’t been for my family. We all need someone in our corner when the chips are down.” He tried for a smile, but it was watery. “Look, do what you need to do. Be who you need to be. Auror, baker, detective, hermit, I don’t care. Just know that wherever you go, whatever you do, you’re not alone. You’ve got someone on your side.”

Harry’s eyes pricked with tears again, but this time they were happy tears. “So this is what it means to have a Slytherin for a friend,” he said, startling Louis into a laugh. Harry smiled too, reaching for Louis’ hand. “Thank you,” he said. “It means a lot.”

Louis touched the side of Harry’s face. “ _You_ mean a lot,” he said.

On impulse, Harry pulled Louis into tight hug. Louis squawked, but then relaxed into it, wrapping his arms around Harry until it felt like they might melt into one person. Harry didn’t want to let go, and only relaxed his grip with reluctance. Louis was similarly slow to let go, and didn’t move away, their chests still touching

Harry’s hands slid up Louis’ arms, hovering on his shoulders. He wanted so much, wanted it desperately. “Can I,” he started, then stopped.

Louis’ fingers traced patterns on Harry’s back that made him shiver. “Can you what?” he asked. “I can’t say yes if you don’t ask.”

Harry bit back a gasp as Louis’ fingers tugged at the hair at the base of his neck. “Kiss you,” he managed. “Can I kiss you?”

Louis’ smile was warm. “Please,” he said, rising on his toes to close the distance between them.

Harry kissed him like he was trying to memorize him – or maybe like he was trying to make Louis remember him forever. Every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue made Harry’s chest ache and still he wanted more, wanted every bit of this for as long as he could have it. Emotions whirled in his stomach, twisting around each other until he couldn’t separate them out into sense. He could feel the tears that had threatened for so long finally spilling down his cheeks, but he couldn't say whether they were tears of happiness or of sorrow.

And Louis… Louis kissed him like he was afraid he’d never get to again, like this might be his final chance and even if it would destroy him he would take as much as he could get. His touch was equal parts gentle and forceful; the fingers of one hand running down Harry’s chest while the other was buried in his hair, or one hand curled softly around Harry’s neck with the other tight against his back, pulling them closer and closer, until Harry thought they might somehow fuse together so that even when they finally separated they would still somehow be connected.

Harry didn’t want to stop kissing him, didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to leave, but he also knew that he wasn’t ready to stay. “I’m sorry,” he found himself whispering over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Louis whispered back, his lips stealing the words from Harry’s mouth and the breath from his lungs. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

At last they pulled apart, chests heaving as their foreheads pressed together. Harry opened his eyes slowly, his breath catching as he found Louis staring back at him with eyes that seemed as deep and blue as the ocean. Harry bit his lip, growing momentarily distracted by its tenderness – Louis’ mouth looked equally tender – before pulling himself back to the matter at hand.

“I know I have no right to ask,” he said slowly.

Louis’ smile was blinding. “We’ve been over this,” he said teasingly, and Harry couldn’t help but smile back.

“Will you wait for me?” he asked quietly. “I can’t – I’m not ready, not now, but later…” He met Louis’ eyes, trying to somehow convey how much this had meant to him, still meant to him, for all its speed and sizzle. “I’d like to try.”

Louis looked startled, and Harry dropped his gaze to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have – you don’t have to-”

“No,” Louis said. “It’s fine. I was just… surprised.” He huffed out a laugh. “We seem to do that a lot.”

He was silent for a long minute, each second weighing on Harry, who bit his tongue hard to keep from saying anything.

“I can’t promise forever,” Louis said at last.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Harry said immediately.

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Let me finish?”

Harry mimed zipping his mouth shut, and Louis laughed.

“My mum used to actually do that to us,” he said. “Always made me laugh.” He shook his head. “Anyway. Like I said, I can’t promise forever. I can’t see the future.” He smiled teasingly, and Harry tried to smile back, but his heart was pounding. “But,” Louis continued, making Harry’s heart jump into his mouth, “Harry, I can’t remember the last time I felt anything like this. And if you need some time to figure out yourself and your place in the world…”

“A year,” Harry suggested. “Give me a year – or, like, if something changes that’s okay, I’ll understand, but if you can-”

“I can give you a year,” Louis said. He touched Harry’s cheek, fingertips tracing along his jawbone. “Can I visit you?” he asked. “Wherever you go, I’d like – or write you at least?”

“I’d like that,” Harry said, a real smile taking form on his face. “Writing might be best, given the distance.”

“I don’t mind the distance,” Louis said immediately, and Harry chuckled.

“You wouldn’t,” he said. “But I’d feel bad.”

Louis smiled. “Letters it is, then,” he said. “Will you write back?”

Harry’s smile grew a shade brighter. “Of course.”

Louis tucked his head against Harry’s chest, his hair tickling under Harry’s chin. “Then what?” he asked. “At the end of the year, what happens then?”

Harry ran his fingers through Louis’ hair, twisting a strand around his thumb. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can’t promise that either, I’m afraid.” They were both silent for a moment, and Harry grew nervous. “If that’s not-”

“That’s fine,” Louis said. “I’ll wait. I’ll _hope_.” He lifted his head, smiling up at Harry. “You’re a Hufflepuff,” he said softly. “You carry the world with you, every single person. You want to help them all, and that’s incredible.” He brushed a loose strand of hair off Harry’s face. “But you have to help yourself first sometimes.”

“Easy for you to say,” Harry said around the lump in his throat.

Louis laughed, that rich, carefree laugh that made Harry flash back to Hogwarts – hearing that laugh ring through the hallways or the staircases between classes. “It is easier for me,” Louis agreed. “But we all need a little of all of the houses in us. We need wisdom and bravery and kindness, and we need to take care of ourselves.”

Harry kissed him again, his lips a bit sore at this prolonged and unfamiliar use, but he didn’t mind. He was crying properly now, his smile watery as he pulled away. “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered. “I don’t want to leave.”

Louis wiped tears from Harry’s cheek, though more replaced them a moment later. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered back. “But you’re gonna do great things. And I’m proud to be able to watch you do them.”

He pressed his lips to Harry’s cheek, then Harry’s mouth, then peeled himself out of Harry’s arms. Harry felt like a part of him was being ripped off but he forced himself to stay where he was, watching Louis walk away. At the doorway, Louis paused.

“I expect regular updates,” he warned. “Otherwise I might have to come check on you. Make sure you’re eating your vegetables and drinking enough water and getting some fresh air.”

Harry smiled through his tears. “I’m a big boy,” he managed. “I can take care of myself. Can you?”

“Honestly?” Louis said. “I can’t cook worth a darn. But I get by.”

Harry laughed. “I’ll see you in a year,” he said. “And – thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Louis echoed, his smile going soft around the edges. “Until next year, Harry.”

And then he was gone. Harry sank to the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs. After several minutes, he forced himself back to his feet and resumed packing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... sorry? I didn't expect this to happen, but... as I approached the ending, I realized that the characters just weren't ready. I kind of liked having the ending uncertain, which is why I sort of ended it here, but I also couldn't _not_ have them wind up together, so I added a short(ish) epilogue as an extra chapter.


	2. Until You Come Back Home

It was a long year for both of them.

They wrote regularly, keeping each other up to date with their lives. Louis was busy as always, investigating this scandal or breaking that important story wide open. He sent along issues of the Prophet from time to time, and included bits and pieces of gossip or news that hadn’t made the official paper.

Harry went west, and started a bakery in San Francisco. It quickly grew in popularity, due to both the tastiness of the goods and the friendliness of the owner, and Harry found himself a local sensation. He loved it – the simplicity, the normalcy, the looks on people’s faces as they bit into a confection. At the end of the day, he handed scraps or unsold food to some of the children who populated the streets of the city, and before long they would arrive at his door just after closing. The only wizardry he allowed into his life was the mail from Louis, preferring the ordinary magic of a child’s smile or a carefully crafted cake topper. Several of his customers swore that the creations were magical, and he always laughed with them, but his wand remained tucked away in a trunk in his rooms, untouched and unused.

But somewhere around the four-month mark, he began to grow restless. Something was missing. He started waking up with ideas for icings that fizzed or cookies that gave off sparks when bitten into. And one Wednesday night, he found himself staying late after hours working on an idea for pastry filling that changed flavours from chocolate to vanilla to caramel. He fell asleep at the table, waking up only when his assistant, Kacey, arrived to open the shop.

He quickly cleaned up his mixings, telling Kacey he’d been working on a new recipe – which was true enough. But a few nights later he had an idea for a berry filling that would stain breath, and he couldn’t resist working on it. It took him another week of fiddling to perfect, but the feeling when he finally got it the way he wanted it was so satisfying that he laughed aloud.

It was only when he sat down to write about the breakthrough to Louis that he paused, realizing how much he had missed magic. He set down his pen and walked to his closet, opening the dusty trunk and rummaging around inside until he pulled out the small, thin box he was looking for. He opened it almost reverently, lifting out his wand with fingers that almost trembled.

He felt a rush of warmth travel up his arm, and his fingertips tingled almost painfully, but he smiled, remembering the first time he’d picked up the wand in Ollivander’s all those years ago and he’d just known.

“The wand chooses the wizard,” he whispered, flexing his wrist. Perhaps it was time for him to return the favour.

Over the course of the next month, he began to let magic back into his life. When a little girl knocked over a display plate, he swept the pieces behind the counter, and with a whispered _Reparo_ , produced a “replacement.”  At the end of the day, he sometimes sent Kacey home early, promising to do the cleaning himself. Then, after just a few quick spells, he would settle down to experiment. Each spell or recipe gave him a giddy feeling, filling an inexplicable craving, but feeding it too.

A month after picking up his wand again, he told Kacey he was moving back to England.

“It’s been years since I was there,” he said as they scrubbed pans in the large sink (he liked the feeling of the water, the satisfaction of seeing the caked-on food lift away under his brush, rather than relying entirely on magic). “I miss it, I guess.”

“Will you come back?” she asked. She was taking it better than he’d expected, honestly, but then, she’d always had a solid head on her shoulders.

“Maybe,” he said. “But that’s not the plan. I came here to find out who I was, and who I wanted to be. And I think I’ve done that.” He smiled. “It’s time to go home.”

“Where’s home?”

The question surprised Harry. Images flashed before his eyes, different answers whirling through his mind and across his tongue – his parents, his childhood home, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, a certain pair of blue eyes half hidden under a fringe of brown hair…

“I don’t know, exactly,” he said at last. “Perhaps that’s what I’ll have to find out next.”

Kacey glanced at him sidelong. “From the look in your eyes, it’s not a where, is it?” she said. “It’s a who.”

Harry smiled, staring into the soapy water. “Maybe,” he said.

Kacey pulled her hands out of the water, wiping them on her apron. “I’m happy for you,” she said, touching his arm. “I’ll definitely miss you, but you deserve this.”

“Thank you,” Harry said softly, emotion welling in his throat. “And that reminds me – I want you to have the shop.”

Kacey’s hand fell away from his arm. “What?”

Harry laughed. “Who else would I sell it to?” he said. “You’re as much a part of this place as I am. And it’s not like I’ll have much use for it in England.”

“I’m not – I don’t – but-”

“Just say thank you,” he teased. “We can work out amounts that seem fair and that you can manage.”

“I – thank you,” she said. “I just – I can’t believe – wow. Thank you.”

“You’ve earned it,” he said honestly. “I can’t believe how far you’ve come, how much you’ve changed from that nervously eager girl I first interviewed.”

“Don’t remind me,” she said with a laugh. “

“I could see the dedication in you, though,” Harry said fondly. “And you proved me right.”

“And now you’re leaving,” Kacey said. “Back to England.”

“Back to England,” he agreed. There was a twinge in his chest – he was almost second-guessing himself; maybe he shouldn’t – but no, he’d made his decision.

“When?”

Harry lifted a hand to rub his nose, pausing just in time to stop himself from smearing strawberry jam across his face. He pulled his hands out of the sink, rinsing them under the tap and shaking the water droplets off his fingers. “The end of the month?” he said at last. “Whenever things are in order, really.”

“So soon?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s been a long time coming, I suppose,” he said. “I just didn’t know when. And now… now I don’t want it to be too late.” He flashed a crooked smile. “I guess I’m just a little restless. But I can stay as long as you need. There’s no set timetable.”

Kacey shook her head. “No,” she said. “I don’t want you to go, but you have to. I’ll be all right.”

Harry laughed. “That’s what he said when I came here,” he said.

He realized what he’d said a moment later, and the potential consequences. Homosexuality wasn’t much more accepted in Muggle than magical society. But as he glanced nervously at Kacey, she just smiled.

“He – your home?” she asked.

Harry let out a breath of relief. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s my home.”

~*~

A month later, Harry stepped off a boat that made him feel positively miniature and smiled at the raucous cacophony of British accents that populated the London docks. Mostly cockney, but there were some Northern accents, some Midlands, even a handful of Irish or Scottish winding their way through the air, no words discernable through the general hubbub but all contributing to the feeling of London.

Harry found himself looking in every direction, trying to take it all in. It wasn’t so different than when he’d left, some four years earlier, but somehow it felt strange and unfamiliar – the sights, the smells, the sounds, all of it.

He hailed a cab to carry him to the train station, but found himself staring out the window the entire ride. He was so distracted he nearly paid the driver in wizarding money, but caught himself just in time. He spent the train ride north staring out the window as well, the sight of rolling fields and cozy towns settling in his bones and whispering, _we’re going home._

His parents picked him up at the train station in Manchester, and he almost cried when he saw them. His mother did cry, pulling him into a tight hug before pulling back and asking him sharply if he’d been eating properly.

“I’m fine, Mum,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been travelling for nearly two weeks, is all.”

“You look peaky,” she said, pinching his cheek. “We’ll have to feed you up. But my goodness, I can’t believe how grown up you look.”

Harry knew better than to argue when Anne was in a mothering mood, and she seemed to have stored up an excess since she’d last seen him. He couldn’t blame her, and he didn’t want to either – he’d missed his mother, though perhaps not as much as she’d missed him.

He spent a month with his parents in Holmes Chapel, walking down familiar streets and talking to neighbors and friends. They were all full of questions about what he’d been up to, which he would answer in half-truths and try to redirect the conversation back to them. They were all interested in the bakery at least, and several offered to give him copies of their family’s recipes. He accepted willingly, but whenever anyone asked what his next plans were, he could only tell them that he wasn’t sure.

He was still writing to Louis, but for some reason he wasn’t entirely sure of, he didn’t tell him that he was back in England. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want him to come visit. Perhaps it was that he wasn’t quite ready to rejoin that world. Perhaps it was just that the more he thought about the coming reunion, the closer it became, the more nervous he felt.

And he certainly was nervous. He was extremely nervous. It felt monumental, the kind of moment that divides a life into before and after, the kind of moment that changes everything. He didn’t want it to go wrong.

It took his mother three weeks to mention his distraction. Harry was preparing for bed when she came into his room, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“It’s been lovely having you back,” she said, patting the space beside her. Harry sat willingly, leaning against her. “We’ve both missed you something terrible.”

“I missed you too,” Harry said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “It was… a long time.”

“You’re welcome here as long as you want, of course,” Anne continued, stroking the top of his head. “But I keep getting the feeling that your mind is somewhere else entirely.”

Harry went still, trying to think what to say. “It’s… complicated,” he managed at last.

Anne nodded. “I’m not trying to push,” she said, “but I’m here to listen if you want me to. I love you.”

Harry smiled. “I know,” he said. “And I’m so grateful.”

They were both silent for a long moment. “Is it… wizard stuff?” Anne asked gently. “I suppose I wouldn’t be very helpful with that.”

“No,” Harry said. “It isn’t.” He paused. “Well, a little bit I suppose. But also not really.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well that was illuminating.”

Harry laughed. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “It’s a bit confusing, even for me. It’s a lot of things all at once.”

“Anything your poor old mum can help with?”

Harry laughed again. “You’re not old.”

“Older than you.” She poked him in the belly, the way she’d always done when he was little. “Older and wiser.”

She was wiser. She’d helped him through so many things in the past, from the bullying at primary school to the discovery of his magic to when he’d first realized his sexuality. She’d always been there for him, and she’d always helped, never judging. This was bigger and more complicated than any of that, but he supposed that problems grew as a person did. And he could certainly use her help.

So he told her. He told her everything. He told her about the case, and the anti-Muggle racism. He told her about feeling stuck between two worlds, not quite fitting into either one. And he told her about Louis. They talked for hours that night, only stopping when they both grew too tired to think properly.

“I’m proud of you,” Anne whispered as she stood up from the bed, stretching. “Remember that, no matter what. I know you’ll find your way.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I hope so,” he said.

When he woke up the next morning, there was a letter from Louis on the windowsill. Harry read it twice – Louis was investigating a rumour of an illegal Crup breeding operation, and had also nearly burned down his flat trying to make toast. Harry smiled the whole time he was reading it.

“Something’s got you happy,” Anne said, leaning in from the hallway.

Harry looked up at her. “Got a letter,” he said, holding it up.

“How did – oh!” Anne smiled. “From – Louis, was it?”

Harry ducked his head. “Yeah,” he said.

Anne came into his room, sitting at the foot of the bed again. “He really makes you happy, doesn’t he,” she said quietly. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “He does.”

“Do you miss him?”

He looked up at her in surprise. “Of course.”

Anne smiled. “Then what are you doing here?” she asked.

Harry sighed. “Trying to figure out the future,” he said. “Trying to find my place in the world. I need to know that before I can know his place in mine.”

Anne brushed a strand of hair off of Harry’s face. “You’ve grown up so much,” she said. “I’ve always been so proud of you, and of everything you’ve accomplished. Magical and non-magical alike. Whatever you decide to do, you have our complete support.” She smiled. “As long as you come to visit your dear old mum from time to time.”

“You’re not ol…” Harry started to say, but he trailed off as his mind jumped in a very different direction.

What if he didn’t have to choose?

His parents had never asked him too. They’d always been perfectly happy with both parts of his identity – all parts of his identity. Perhaps he couldn’t ask that of the rest of the world, but perhaps he could have both. At the bakery in San Francisco, he’d been happy. He’d been successful. He’d been comfortable. And he’d been still more so when he was trying his hand at magical recipes at the same time. Why couldn’t he have both, the Muggle and the magical?

“Harry?” Anne said, and by the expression on her face it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name. “Harry, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Sorry, Mum. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“And what are you thinking?” Anne asked, smiling.

Harry stood. “I’m thinking it’s time I found my home,” he said. He pressed a kiss to Anne’s cheek, hugging her tightly. “Thank you so much for everything,” he said. “I’ll leave on Saturday.”

“So soon?” Anne asked, but she was smiling as she stood. She touched his cheek gently, and he leaned into it. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered. “And so, so happy.”

Harry smiled too, blinking back the tears pricking at his eyes. “Thank you,” he said again. “I couldn’t ask for a better mother.”

~*~

Harry’s heart was pounding as he counted down the numbers on the tidy terraced houses. 34. 32. 30. 28.

This was it.

The walk up to the door was neatly kept, colourful flowers growing on either side. He mounted the three steps to the porch and rang the bell.

“Just a minute!” he heard a familiar voice call from inside. He waited, a quiet thud and a slightly louder crash passing through from the other side of the door. “Be right with you!” the voice called again.

At last, the door swung open and Louis stood before him, hair disheveled, shirt untucked, a tie loose around his neck. “Hello, how can I-” He stopped dead as he processed what he saw.

“Hi,” Harry said, smiling nervously.

Louis blinked at him for a long minute. “Harry?” he asked at last.

“The one and only,” Harry said. He smiled. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten me.”

Louis laughed. “Never,” he said. “But – what are you doing here?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m back,” he said.

“You – you’re-” Louis seemed lost for words. “Where? Why? What?”

“I found myself,” Harry said simply. “I found my place. I know where I belong.”

Louis’ hand rose slowly, as if not entirely under his own power, brushing up Harry’s arm to rest on his shoulder. “And where’s that?” he asked quietly.

“Between,” Harry said. “I don’t have to choose.” He smiled. “I’m going to start two bakeries this time,” he said. “One in Muggle London – I brought the recipes from the San Francisco shop. And one in Diagon Alley.” He tapped his suitcase. “Just signed the paperwork for the building.”

Louis’ face was radiant. “You did?” he said. “You mean it? You’re back?”

Harry’s smile was soft as he stepped closer to Louis. “I did,” he said. “I mean it. I’m back. And I’m back for you too – if you’ll have me.”

Louis squawked indignantly. “What kind of question is that?” he asked. “ _If_ I’ll have you – Harry, I’ve been waiting for this day for eight and a half months.”

Harry laughed, half happiness and half relief. “Me too,” he said. “And I hoped – but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions before-”

“You can jump my conclusions any time,” Louis said fervently, and before Harry could point out that that didn’t make any sense, Louis had slid his hand behind Harry’s neck and pulled his face down, engaging Harry’s mouth in a much more interesting and enjoyable activity. Louis tugged him in by the shirt collar, and the moment they were inside Harry dropped his bag, shutting the door behind him with one hand as he pressed Louis to the wall with the other.

“I’m back,” he whispered against Louis’ lips before trapping them in another crushing kiss. “I’m back. I’m back for you. I’m back for good.”

Louis’ arms wrapped around Harry’s neck, their bodies pressed tight against each other. “I missed you,” he whispered back. “What say we make up for lost time?”

Harry laughed, pressing one more kiss to Louis’ mouth before moving to trail feather light brushes of his lips along Louis’ neck. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”


End file.
